


Early Secrets

by cleverbrainer



Series: Secrets [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Romanian Dragon Sanctuary (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:20:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 53,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28674366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleverbrainer/pseuds/cleverbrainer
Summary: “So, Bowie, any exciting research plans tomorrow?” Cecil asked, not interested in watching two burly, shirtless men chopping wood like the women were.“Not particularly,” Hermione squeaked, her cheeks flushing. Charlie had sensed he was being watched and took a moment to look at her and shoot a wink before swinging his axe up once more. She hadn’t expected to be caught staring but realized, once she had been, that she had little interest in looking away. Something in the back of her head told her that Charlie didn’t mind, so she continued to watch him as he swung the axe up onto his shoulder and wiped his arm across his sweaty forehead.“Has he always had that tattoo on his side?” she pondered before realizing she had spoken.Or: how Hermione found herself working and living on a dragon reserve.  Current WIP and prequel to Open Secrets.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Charlie Weasley
Series: Secrets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114457
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story 5.5 years ago, but never posted it. As it turns out, it's the perfect prequel to the world of Open Secrets!  
> So, here we are.  
> Endless thanks to @patriceavril for talking me into dusting off this big ol' oof.  
> Any inconsistencies, typos, etc are all my own.  
> I hope y'all enjoy.  
> <3 CB

Two and a half years after the second demise of Lord Voldemort, Charlie Weasley was informed he had a letter to send home. Everything in Romania was still going well, but after 10 years of work for the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, he was finally entrusted with the task of reaching out to his contacts in wizarding Britain to fill some of the employment holes that they had been unable to fill since the second rise of the Dark Lord (or so he was told before this particular meeting). Really, Charlie knew he had been asked to talk to some of his friends from back home; not because he had fought in the final Battle of Hogwarts, or because he had been a prized member of the Order of the Phoenix, but merely for his close connections with the three teenagers who just so happened to save the wizarding world as he knew it. Try as he might to talk his boss out of that line of thinking, he was simply overpowered by Luke Macmillan, head of the Sanctuary. (Truthfully, the promise of an extra week off at the upcoming Christmas holidays didn't hurt matters, either.)  
  
"Now, Charlie, you can't really think I believe you have no proper connection to the Potter boy and his friends after all of these years? Merlin's beard, boy, you practically raised a third of the group yourself!"  
  
"Mr. Macmillan, with all due respect, sir, I didn't really play any part in raising Ron. Unless you count spending his school years in Romania working and the occasional owl correspondence…" Charlie attempted to counter.  
  
"Nonsense, Weasley," Luke all but cut him off. Charlie simply stared, not interested in causing trouble for himself. Charlie may have been a seasoned dragon keeper after his decade on the reserve, but he was still smart enough to let his superiors talk over, and sometimes through, him. "I am sure you're satisfied with your brother's work in the Auror department for the British Ministry. It certainly helps that he's partnered with the Chosen One himself. It's not those two that I am concerned with. The one I'm most interested in, however, is the girl. War heroine, highest N.E.W.T.s since Albus Dumbledore himself, and an employee for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?! I'd be a right flobberworm if I didn't try to sway her into working for us, and we would start the game in check if you'd untie your knickers and talk to her."  
  
"Hermione?! Absolutely not, Luke. I mean, she's brilliant and all, but I don't think she knows how to actually handle a dragon. She's all theory and paperwork, from what my brothers have told me." The red-head was astounded, though he could feel the heat underneath his freckles rise as he thought about seeing Hermione on a regular basis, especially if that meant at work.  
  
"Did she not free the Ironbelly from Gringotts?"  
  
"Yes, but --"  
  
"Has she not been spending the past 2 years passing laws to grant more freedoms to house elves?"  
  
"Well, I suppose so, but --"  
  
"Weasley. You can't win this argument. Besides, I never said we needed her in position as a keeper. I need her to head the research and planning team, and she might only be necessary for a few years."  
  
"Head of the research team?" Charlie countered, confused. "What about Mathilde, Jonah, and Fabian?" Now he wasn't as excited about seeing her on a regular basis; yes, he had always been intrigued and somewhat entranced by her, but he wouldn't let anyone toss some of his good friends aside just to hire someone who had a reputation like Hermione. It was simply unjust.  
  
"Not their kind of research," Luke explained, clearly getting annoyed with all of these follow-up questions. He couldn't lie, though; he had expected it. No one at the Sanctuary had ever asked Charlie to invite anyone new for work before, and going straight for the brains of the trio was probably a bit unexpected, if not a complete shock. "The MacFusty clan has finally decided to part with a pair of Hebridean Blacks, one male and one female, when they are full grown and old enough to move, but refuse to do so if the reserve in question has any blemish in their history of taming and training. Granted, to most of us, we are the obvious choice for the pair; we are the biggest reserve located in Europe, but we are also the farthest away. My galleons are set on Wales, but the Swedish are sure to cause a right ruckus about it. And that, Weasley, is why we need the assistance of one Hermione Granger."  
  
Charlie had only heard a small portion at the beginning of Luke Macmillan's speech, clearly distracted at the prospect of being able to breed and care for the lucrative purple reptiles that have been solely taken care of on a select island in Scotland for as long as anyone could remember. Before he knew it, Charlie was muttering, "yeah, sure, of course Mr. Macmillan, whatever you say, sir."  
  
Even though he only had a bit of the official information to go off of, Charlie knew his new task was the most important he had ever received; this was a chance at glory for the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary! They didn't host races or have guests very often like some reserves in Sweden and China, and they weren't as well hidden as the one tucked away in the mountains of Wales, but Charlie's reserve was the best equipped to take care of the unique breed. All he had to do was explain to his mum and Hermione why this was such an important task, why they specifically needed her help (while keeping the secret that the majority of the reason truly was her brain power, but a portion was also her status as wizarding celebrity), and that it would only take a few years of her time. He was putting his money on being able to sway her with the promise of adventure mixed with research, history, and helping those less talented and brilliant as her. He really was counting on her being ever the Gryffindor.  
  
Snapping out of his train of thought, Charlie looked up to see Luke smiling slightly at him, his face full of understanding and patience.  
  
"Sir, I think this…mission, for lack of a better term, might be easier to take care of in person than in writing." Charlie's brain was whirring already; as it stood, it was just before Friday supper time, and the monthly Weasley Sunday dinner would be taking place in less than 48 hours time.  
  
"I understand, Charlie. Perhaps it would be best if you take that week off a bit early, yeah? The earlier we can get started on our little history report, the earlier we can send it off to Scotland and start making room for the new family. Merlin knows we'll need to do some rearranging; 200 square miles is no small feat."  
  
The second-eldest Weasley paused, unsure of what he was hearing. He instantaneously furrowed his brow; going home for supper was always nice, but he couldn't up and leave for the week with barely any warning. How would his partner react? Charlie and Travis had been assigned to the hatchery for the upcoming week, Charlie's favorite spot to work in as of late (not that he was old, but a decade of wrestling 50 foot reptiles certainly aged you), and he wasn't too keen to leave his partner to play third wheel with a different group while he got to go home for a week and enjoy his mum's cooking and mollycoddling.  
  
"Travis will be fine, Charlie. Don't you trust me?" And with that, Charlie was all but pushed out of Luke's office. "Your portkey leaves in two hours," the older man remarked with a smile, "and do try to return with the Granger girl. At the very least, pique her interest and bring her to me. I can take it from there."  
  
And with a small 'click!' the door was closed in Charlie's freckled face. He stood there stunned for a few moments before turning on his heel and rushing to his home to pack his belongings for the strange week ahead.  
  
\-----  
  
If there was anything in the world Charlie truly hated, it was traveling by portkey. Granted, the only alternative was to make the trip by broomstick, and it was a very long flight home to Ottery St. Catchpole, but he enjoyed the alone time. He had only taken a straight flight a few times in the past, stopping in a few different countries for meals, but he mainly Apparated past the areas where there was a lot of known Muggle activity, and would fly in between. Taking a portkey, however, meant that he had to endure the travel straight to the Ministry of Magic by the less than comfortable pull in the tip of his finger, and apparate to the Burrow from there. It was definitely the fastest way to get there, but given his current predicament, he would have enjoyed the extra time to come up with as many arguments as possible as to why Hermione should drop all of her work at the Ministry and come back with him to Romania.  
  
By the time he had finished grumbling to himself and made his way outside of the protective enchantments at his reserve, Charlie barely had time to grasp the severed plug now glowing a bright blue before the hook solidified through his navel and he hurled towards London. He did indeed recognize the irony that his portkey home was a small plug, and he quietly tucked it into his pocket for his father before heading towards the series of lines for wizards coming to the United Kingdom from abroad; he was quite lucky in picking the fastest line. The wizard manning his customs line was a few years ahead of his older brother, Bill, but recognized him nonetheless. This meant he was in and out before anyone could yell "Quidditch!" and off to the mandated apparition point, turning on the spot, and disappearing with a small _pop!  
  
_ Unlike his portkey, when his feet slammed into the ground, it was the hard, frozen ground outside of his family home, the Burrow. Charlie knew that none of his siblings lived here anymore, but he was never quite sure who would be round for supper or mid-evening tea with Molly and Arthur.   
  
Even though it had been a few years since the end of the war, there were still Death Eaters on the run, and Charlie wasn't surprised at all when he saw his father coming down the lane, wand held high, but obviously fighting the surge of happiness at seeing his second-eldest son home from Romania on no notice. Charlie simply tucked his wand into his pocket and held both hands open at the level of his broad shoulders before announcing himself; "It is I, Charles Septimus Weasley, dragon keeper at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, previous Gryffindor Quidditch captain, and lover of all magical creatures. My patronus takes the form of a Swedish Short-Snout, and mum makes the best treacle tart I've ever tasted."  
  
Before he could even finish, he noticed Molly rushing out the door, hastily tucking her wand into her apron. She all but ran down the lane, throwing herself into the arms of the shortest, but by all means, not smallest, son, immediately crushing his bones in one of her trademark hugs. "Oh, Charlie-bear! How could you come home without saying anything?" she cooed, pinching his cheeks and obviously eyeballing him to see if he'd been eating enough. "You're looking a bit peaky, love. Why don't you come inside for tea and I'll whip up some of your favorite puddings for supper?"  
  
Before he had time to think, Charlie was pushed into the kitchen and sat down at the magically elongated kitchen table, his mum thrusting a cuppa into his hands while his father continued to pour him three fingers of firewhiskey.  
  
"I'm fine, mum, I swear. I ate at the reserve not 20 minutes before I left; this really is unnecessary." He couldn't lie -- he knew she would make a fuss, but making fresh puddings really was a bit ridiculous.  
  
"Nonsense, Charles Weasley. They may serve you decent food up in that blasted country, but we both know you're not getting your fill what with having to share all of your meals with dozens of hungry men." Molly countered, waving her wand with a flourish at the oven.  
  
"Son, what brings you home so soon? We weren't expecting to see you until at least Christmas." This was Arthur's way of trying to save Charlie from the tirade that was Molly and her ever-growing empty nest syndrome. Hopefully, if they had enough firewhiskey fast enough, they would be heading for bed before she could start asking about his love life and wondering when he would begin to give her grandchildren.  
  
"Well, dad, I wish I could say I came home for a surprise visit. They actually sent me away for a week on business," he stated rather matter-of-factly, stealing a glance at his mother's clock. It had been removed from its place of prominence after the war, mainly because Molly was known to burst into tears any time she remembered Fred's arrow was permanently pointing to "dead," but it was still kept in a place where she could keep an eye on her children. With Ron as an Auror and Bill a father, she was rather worried for their health on an almost constant basis.  
  
"What's the nature of this business, son?" Molly asked, finally sitting down after realizing that there was nothing to busy her hands with until the timer went off. "Hopefully not another transport," she added under her breath, eyes narrowed.  
  
The last time Charlie had sustained a serious injury at work was during what was supposed to be a routine swap between his reserve in Romania and the smaller reserve in Wales, which ended with Charlie bedridden in his old bedroom for almost 2 weeks while his mother applied Dittany and Murtlap Essence to his back twice hourly. She was none too pleased, and her pestering him to quit his job for something more suitable and less dangerous had only increased tenfold ever since.  
  
"No, mum. We're not moving anything…yet. I've actually been tasked to talk a close…friend…into returning with me. We're trying to talk some trainers out of Scotland into giving us a pair of very rare dragons so we can hopefully breed them and make them more common around the world, as opposed to exiled on a small island off the coast." He realized all too late that he had already said too much, and should have remembered his mother would not be pleased at the thought of losing another one of her children to the dangers of dragons.  
  
Molly was out of her chair and shaking her finger so vigorously in Charlie's direction before he realized this, however, and began to screech. "You will absolutely NOT take another one of my children! We have already lost one, and one living near the opposite side of the continent is simply too much! I absolutely will not have it!"  
  
"Mum! MUM!" Charlie hollered, desperate to calm her down enough to hear him out. She didn't even know they were asking specifically for Hermione; she assumed they were looking to take on Ron, just like he had assumed when Mr. Macmillan brought it up in the first place.  
  
"I'm not asking for Ron! Hell, I'm not even looking to ask Ginny. I've been sent out here to talk one specific person into returning with me, strictly on a research basis, for, at most, three years."  
  
A look of understanding dawned quickly over Molly's face, but not before she had rushed around the table and started hitting her son with the closest thing -- unfortunately for Charlie, it happened to be the spoon from the small honey pot resting near the tea tray. "You. Will. Not. Take. Our. Hermione. Anywhere!" She accentuated each word with a thorough whack to his shoulder and top of his head, effectively covering his skull and torso with fresh stickiness, but not before the famed trio themselves walked in the door, clearly tired from a long evening at work.  
  
"Take me where, Mrs. Weasley?" the young witch asked, trying to hide her giggles from seeing someone she thought of as the epitome of rugged manliness being hit over the head with a honey spoon, beaten into submission by his overprotective mother.  
  
"Oh, hello, Hermione, dear… Charlie here apparently has a certain job offer for you, but I have already forbidden him from making it, so why don't you three get washed up and help me clear off the table? Puddings are almost ready."  
  
A distinct look of confusion crossed the features of Hermione, Harry, and Ron before they all nodded and headed out of the kitchen towards the bathrooms to change out of their work robes and into more suitable clothing. Charlie, however, was still stuck in the kitchen with an enraged mother and a father who had long since learned to keep his nose out of trouble when his wife went off on any type of tirade in regard to which child had done what now.  
  
Muttering profusely to herself, Molly flicked her wand and had the tea tray (including the offending spoon) sent to the sink to begin washing themselves before heading back over to the counters to ready supper for the six of them.  
  
Charlie, only slightly embarrassed (he had not planned on bringing the offer up to Hermione whilst being accosted by his mother with a spoonful of honey), simply stood to leave the room and find a clean change of clothes before Scourgifying the honey out of his hair. "Oh, dad. I forgot. I have something for you…" he mentioned, digging in his pocket for the expired portkey. "It was my portkey home, but I thought you might enjoy keeping it…" he mumbled before handing the plug to his beaming father and slouching out of the room.  
  
\-----  
  
"What d'you reckon that was all about?" Ron asked as he ascended the stairs to the second floor landing with Hermione and Harry. "It couldn't've been anything good with the way mum was attacking him with the teaspoon," he added, to a few chuckles from his best friends.  
  
"Oh, knowing Hermione, they probably need some help drafting some new laws having to do with dragon rights in Romania, or something," Harry added. Hermione just shook her head.  
  
"No, I don't think that's the reason. Mrs. Weasley wouldn't attack him for something as simple as that. It must be something bigger. I wonder why he needs to ask me, though? I don't do any work in the Beast Division!" With that, they all simply nodded and shrugged as Hermione disappeared into Ginny's room to change out of her work robes, and both boys went towards the attic where Ron's room was located.  
  
\-----  
  
Charlie had barely changed out of his work clothes before there was a short knock on his door. Before he had a chance to answer, Harry stepped inside and pushed the door behind him.  
  
"Hey, Harry," Charlie muffled while pulling a clean shirt over his head. "All right?"  
  
Harry simply nodded before taking a seat across from him, on Bill's old bed. "Are you here to talk Hermione into going back to Romania with you?"  
  
Charlie stiffened; Harry had never been one to beat around the bush, always opting for the direct route of questioning when he desperately wanted to get to the point without the usual pleasantries.  
  
"Well, sort of." Charlie fixed his attention to unlacing his dragon hide boots carefully and took an extra moment to line them up perfectly at the foot of his bed. He was obviously trying to delay the inevitable; he had barely taken the time to come up with the proper arguments to use against the brightest witch of her age, and much less time to think of anything to say to the boy who saved the wizarding world as he knew it, or even his younger brother. Harry seemed to understand this, though, as he sat there patiently waiting for Charlie to speak again.  
  
"The reserve is in a sort of…bidding war, as it were, for a pair of dragons stationed in Scotland. Hebridean Blacks, they're called. The same family has been taking care of them exclusively for generations, but now they're offering up a chance to other reserves in Europe to a young pair as soon as they're fully aged."  
  
This explanation did nothing to satisfy Harry, so he simply asked, "What's that got to do with Hermione?"  
  
Charlie shrugged and sat down on his bed across from Harry, running a hand through his hair as he did so. "I asked the same question at first. We have a very dedicated research team that has done wonders for the Sanctuary in the past, but this family…they're only accepting the best of the best. We need to prove that we have had a spotless record since we started taking dragons in in the first place, so we need a historian of sorts and someone willing to take on the challenge of sifting through decades of information."  
  
"So, naturally, they're asking after Hermione."  
  
A knowing look crossed Harry's features; after 10 or more years of help from Hermione's brain, he understood why she was an important piece in this puzzle. Her knowledge of her Department at the Ministry would certainly be an asset, especially since she was probably, at the very least, already aware of the situation brewing to the north of them.  
  
"They won't settle for anyone but the best, Harry. Luke, he's the head of the reserve, thought that a familiar face extending the offer would go over better than an owl through work. Granted, I'm sure they could just ask for a transfer, but I think she would be much happier if we gave her the chance to make the decision on her own."  
  
Unbeknownst to both men deep in conversation, a bushy head of brown hair had appeared in the doorway to fetch both boys for tea and pudding. They especially weren't expecting the next three words to come out of her mouth:  
  
"I'll do it."  
  
\-----  
  
Arthur and Ron both sat at the table downstairs in the kitchen, tirelessly attempting to push two fingers of firewhiskey at the matriarch of the Weasley family. Molly simply shook her head each time, opting instead to bustle about casting heating charms over everything as soon as it came out of the oven.  
  
"Don't know what he's thinking, taking our Hermione away from us, how could they ask that of her? After all she's been through! 'Hello, Hermione. I know we haven't seen much of each other ever in your life, but would you please drop everything that you've worked for to help us obtain two more deadly creatures that you have no chance of saving yourself against?!'" Molly was nearing hysterics, and her husband and youngest son could only sit quietly and pretend they didn't hear her ranting behind them. Ron decided to distract the both of them from her tirade by asking his dad about the plug Charlie had brought home, and the two of them set out comparing and contrasting them to the other plugs in Arthur's ever expanding collection while trying to figure out which type of muggle contraption this one could have been removed from.  
  
\-----  
  
"You'll do, wait, what?"  
  
Charlie was immediately to his feet and crossed his bedroom to the doorway in nearly three bounds.  
  
"I said, I'll do it." Hermione clarified, the familiar glint of adventure bringing her brown eyes to life.  
  
"Hermione, are you sure?" Harry asked hesitantly as he crossed the room behind Charlie. He would have moved around him to look at her face properly, but Charlie was far too broad to even attempt to shove out of his way. Instead, he settled for looking over the shoulder of the shortest Weasley, tall enough that he could still see the top of her head, but she wasn't looking at him. She was holding eye contact with Charlie.  
  
"Of course I'm sure!" she replied quietly, "I joined my Department to make a difference in the world, and this may not be the type of difference I had in mind, but I'm sure it's much better than sitting in an office and filing paperwork every day of my life."  
  
Before she even had a chance to continue, Charlie picked her up in his arms and spun her a few times in the hallway. "You can't be serious!" was all he could say, over and over again.  
  
The younger witch just laughed and relaxed into his arms; Charlie couldn't know that she had partially agreed because it meant they would get to spend more time together. She had always felt that she had gotten on best with Bill and Charlie. Ron was one of her best friends, and Ginny was her best girl friend, but they always wanted to talk about work or Quidditch or relationships. Bill and Charlie were always happy to speak with her about books, and she barely had to do any badgering to get both of them to join S.P.E.W. a few summers ago. The two boys really cared about her cause, Charlie especially, and that was not lost on her. If she needed to put her head into research mode while abroad for a little while, so be it. And even better, she would get to research magical creatures _while surrounded by magical creatures_. Few things had ever sounded better to her.  
  
Hermione had been given many job offers after she went back to Hogwarts to finish her seventh year (honestly, before she had even decided to go back), and had spent two years climbing the ladder in the Department for the Regulation of Control of Magical Creatures. It was interesting work, mind, but after spending 6 years straight adventuring with Harry and Ron, she would be a liar to tell you that she was satisfied sitting in an office all day and sending owls and memos to "higher ups" that she felt didn't do much. This was her opportunity to go do something huge! And she would forever be down on herself if she turned down the chance to explore.  
  
"Maybe we should keep this from your mum for a bit, yeah?" she pondered aloud as Charlie set her back down, both blushing at the intimate contact between them. "She would kill the both of us if she knew I agreed instantaneously."  
  
"Agreed," Charlie and Harry both mumbled with a slight nod to their head.  
  
Their quiet moment was broken by a shout up the stairs, "Charles Weasley! Harry Potter! Hermione Granger! I know I sent for the three of you to come get some supper ages ago. Get down here before the warming charms come undone!"  
  
The three of them shared a chuckle before heading down the stairs, trying to wipe the smirks off of their faces to keep Mrs. Weasley from getting suspicious.  
  
\-----  
  
"You sent Charlie _where_?! What the hell's he done to deserve that?" Travis demanded, obviously shocked that his partner had just disappeared for the next week. Luke Macmillan, head of the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary where both men were employed, clearly had not explained the situation. From where Travis stood, Charlie was merely sent home on no notice for no discernible reason; that, or he did something really, really stupid to bag himself a week's suspension.  
  
Luke merely shook his head, trying not to lose his temper. Many people with far less authority seemed to be demanding a lot of information from him as of late, and he had simply had it. "Mr. Weasley has merely been sent home to do some reconnaissance on behalf of the Reserve and he shall return one week from tomorrow."  
  
"Reconnaissance? That's complete and utter bollocks, and you know it! Why in the name of Merlin's saggy left tit would you just send him away on absolutely no bloody notice, and then have the fucking audacity to pair me with fucking _Sorin_? You've got to be fucking kidding me!"  
  
Breathing deep, Travis ran a hand over his bald head. He was obviously losing the battle to maintain face with the Big Boss; he knew he should stay calm, but he was truly brassed about being paired with Sorin Cozma, out of everyone else that worked there. Sure, Sorin was excellent at his job and truly had a knack for keeping his charge calm, but it didn't change the fact that the guy was a right tosser. He and Travis had started together 7 years ago, but Travis and Charlie had been partners for just over four years. A sudden partner change, especially on no notice, never meant anything good. He didn't care if Luke wanted to call it "reconnaissance" or not, Travis knew something was up. He just didn't know what.  
  
"Mr. Wormwood, if you please. I do, in fact, know what I am doing and how to run this Sanctuary. Mr. Weasley is utilizing some of his excellent contacts on my behalf. The remainder of the plan, however, is still hanging in the theoretical and I don't have any information I am ready to share until your partner returns. In the meantime, however, do _try_ to work well with Mr. Cozma. He could very well run this place someday."  
  
The last thing Travis wanted was to remember that Sorin really was one of the best; he was a Romanian born who had practically been raised on this very reserve. Dragons were all but in his blood; he felt that one day leading the Sanctuary was his birthright, and he never let anyone forget it. Instead of fighting the man in charge even more than he already had, Travis merely fixed a steely gaze at Mr. Macmillan, nodded his head tightly, and walked by briskly in the general direction of the mess tent.  
  
\-----  
  
Supper at the Burrow was an awkward and quiet affair, as was the following Saturday. Ron, Harry, and Hermione had all left briskly after dinner ("I have so many owls to send!" the witch hissed at Charlie), leaving the second-eldest Weasley son to deal with Molly's wrath alone. Though, to the surprise of both Arthur and Charlie, she simply cleaned up the kitchen before taking a pot of tea up to her bedroom, still mumbling and sending heated glares at her son. Charlie decided to ignore it, favoring another three fingers of firewhiskey as he and his father played wizarding chess together in near-silence.  
  
The following day, Charlie could tell that his mother was seriously upset; he avoided her to the point where volunteering to de-gnome the garden would be a novel idea. The only thing that brightened the afternoon was when his older brother Bill wandered out of the house, his first child, Victoire, propped on his hip. "Hey, Char," he greeted, clutching his small daughter closer to his chest in an absent-minded attempt to save her ankles from the gnomes that had stupidly come out to see what was going on.  
  
"Hey, Bill," the younger brother remarked as he let go of the gnome currently in his hands, throwing it as far as he could past the bushes and out of the garden. He heard his niece giggle at sight of a gnome being tossed away like a particularly foul nappie. Charlie just grinned at her, wiping his muddy hands on his pants before rushing over to tickle his favorite little girl.  
  
"Mum seems pretty annoyed with you today, you know."  
  
"I know," Charlie sighed, and with a slight shrug. "Sanctuary needs a historian for the next few years, and I was asked to try to talk Hermione into helping." He didn't feel like telling another person the whole story before he even had the chance to speak with Hermione properly.  
  
All his big brother needed to do was shrug slightly, letting Charlie know that Bill was on his side. This motion, however, caused the toddler to squeal and squirm out of his arms. Both men followed the small girl over to the snow covered orchard in a companionable conversation break.  
  
"She already agreed, you know."  
  
"Does mum know?"  
  
Charlie ran a well-calloused palm through his hair. "Not yet. I haven't even had the chance to speak to Hermione about it properly. Mum's certainly seen to that one."  
  
Bill just chuckled, remembering how relentless their mum had been before his wedding all those years ago. "She definitely knows how to thwart any planning that has to do with her daughters leaving the country."  
  
"Well, see, what I'm hoping is…" the younger man sighed once more, feeling a bit too weary and worn out for his age, "I'm hoping mum will see that this time, it's far less dangerous. She'll be surrounded by dragons, yeah, but it's not like how it used to be. This is a controlled environment with experts around every corner…" he trailed off before adding, "that's what I keep telling myself, anyway," under his breath. Bill knew there wasn't much he could really say; she had already agreed to it. Once Hermione made up her mind, there was no changing it. The woman was absolutely tenacious.  
  
Both brothers had, yet again, settled into a small silence. There was noticeably more tension rising from the stockier man, but the lankier man knew to keep his mouth shut. The entire family had known that, during the 'Year of the Hunt' (as they had dubbed it), Charlie seemed more worried about Hermione than the other four, now three, boys. He would merely argue that he was just as worried about Ron and Harry, but there was Ginny to worry about Harry, and Molly to worry about Ron. Someone needed to worry about the brains of the group, especially since she was the only muggle-born out of the lot. He reminded anyone who brought it up that it was his family out there and had cut off contact with the outside world; of course he was worried! He, along with everyone else, frantically checked the Daily Prophet hoping for news or even a slight glimpse of the three teenagers.  
  
The thing was, was that they weren't teenagers anymore. They were adults. Adults with jobs and families and relationships and real world problems that weren't tied to prophecies and battle and living in a constant state of fight or flight mode. And, as adults, they were allowed to make their own choices of employment regardless of how much Molly fought it.  
  
All Charlie could do was hope against hope that her help didn't get her maimed. Or worse, killed.  
  
\-----  
  
Charlie was convinced of it: Bill Weasley was a saint. Not only was he smart enough to bring his daughter to the Burrow a day early, but he had also convinced Harry and Ginny to bring Teddy Lupin along for a playdate. He had told Bill about his conversation with Harry the night before, and knew that the younger wizard would have the forethought to invite Hermione along. It wasn't as easy as potentially stealing time on a Sunday, but at least Molly was distracted with her grandchildren and didn't pay much attention to anyone else.  
  
As soon as his mum was distracted, Charlie locked eyes with Hermione and nodded towards the door. She quietly slipped away while Charlie thought up an excuse (placing his father's new plug in the garage with his other tools seemed to do just fine) and his parents were too smitten to really care.  
  
Hermione was certainly glad that she remembered to keep her robes on. It was towards the end of November and the weather was rapidly getting colder as the Christmas holidays approached. She hugged herself tightly for warmth, which Charlie noticed with a sad smile. He immediately cast a warming charm over the small room and she smiled gratefully as she perched on the seat of an old muggle bicycle, daring it to topple over if she shifted her weight in the wrong direction. Any onlooker would know that she was waiting for Charlie to begin their conversation, nor what they were speaking about.  
  
"Umm, well…so…" he faltered, playing with a loose seam on his dragon hide jacket. _I'll be needing a new one soon_ , he thought to himself, momentarily grateful for his mind's distraction.  
  
"Yes, Charlie?"  
  
They both stared at one another for a moment; Hermione refused to break eye contact until he at least explained whatever situation she had managed to entangle herself in. She was suddenly very aware that she had never been alone in the Weasley garage with a boy before. Well, she had been alone here with Ron and Harry -- but that hardly counted. They were her brothers... Charlie was, well, Charlie Weasley! Any girl that was a Gryffindor in the past 17 years knew who Charlie Weasley was. And now he was apparently her coworker.  
  
"Well, I guess I'll try to get to the point quickly as to not waste any of your time…" he started, waiting to be acknowledged in a way that would show him that Hermione knew what he had to explain was important. She just nodded her head to signify she was ready for him to continue, and he gave her a lopsided, if not awkward, smile.  
  
"I take it you're familiar with Luke Macmillan?"  
  
"Oh, yes. He wrote many of the important texts they study in the Beast Division. He did this wonderful article recently on the mating habits of the --"  
  
"Yeah, I edited it."  
  
Charlie didn't mean to cut her off so abruptly, but this really was a business trip. Garage at the Burrow or not, he still had work to do, and he took his job seriously.  
  
"I'm sorry," the witch mumbled. She was usually so good at staying completely on task, but something about being in this space with this specific person had her mind whirring. She suddenly wanted to tell him everything she had ever read about dragons, even if he knew it all already. She felt her cheeks begin to flush before directing yet another friendly nod, encouraging him to continue speaking...again.  
  
"Well, Luke has been contacted by the MacFustys in Hebridean and they are considering sending a pair of newborns to be raised and bred in Romania."  
  
He heard her sharp intake of breath and he could see the comprehension dawning over her face, deep within her eyes. She knew that this would be the highest honor for his reserve and coworkers. He smiled softly to himself before continuing once more; he was usually one to get straight to the point, but something about drawing out the information to the young witch was surprisingly amusing.   
  
"You see, we need to prove to them that we're the best place for the pair, and deep research into the history of the reserve --"  
  
"-- will be of the utmost importance! And they want someone from the outside who will be able to come in and be completely unbiased in showing the MacFusty's that Romania is better than Wales." She squared her shoulders and smiled brightly. "Of course I'll help, Charlie. I already said that I would, but this is going to be far more interesting than I ever imagined!"  
  
"Yes! Yes! Thank you! You're brilliant!" Charlie all but screamed, picking her up to spin her around for the second time in as many nights. Hermione couldn't remember another time in her life when she had seen Charlie look so alive; he looked even happier than he had at the Quidditch World Cup half a decade ago. She allowed herself to throw her head back and laugh as he continued spinning her around, her toes just barely grazing the dusty floor.  
  
By the time he set her down, they were still maintaining close eye contact. Hermione could see the happiness dancing behind his blue iris -- happy that she had accepted (and so readily), happy that he would have someone from back home close by for his usual bouts of homesickness, as well as someone to travel with... Mainly truly happy at the prospect of researching and breeding a dragon that had been closely guarded for centuries. This was truly a once in a lifetime experience and Hermione couldn't wait to help -- not only did she get to adventure in Romania, but this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to be apart of something so huge, and she would be able to take that experience back to the Ministry in a few years time.   
  
They stayed there for a few moments staring at one another, beaming from ear to ear, and thinking about how this situation could completely better life in the long run for the other person. By the time they realized they were still standing very close together, Charlie still had his arms around her waist and they were both blushing and separated themselves slowly.  
  
"I suppose we should head inside, yeah? Mum's probably wondering where we've gone off to."  
  
Hermione called off the warming spell surrounding them, but both were so flushed with embarrassment that they hardly noticed. Charlie decided to run a few laps around the grounds before heading back inside, partially to avert suspicion, but mainly to make himself impervious to lying about his whereabouts.  
  
\-----  
  
 _L. Macmillan,_  
 _She's said yes. We haven't been able to discuss a return date. I will update you once I know more.  
C. Weasley  
  
_\-----  
  
 _C. Weasley,  
Glad to hear it. I knew she would agree. Do not return without her. She will need your assistance to get through the enchantments when you arrive. Let me know as soon as possible so I can register your return portkey.  
_ _L. Macmillan  
  
_ \-----  
  
The following Sunday dinner passed with very few incidents, if you could count a glowering Molly Weasley and George sneaking a Puking Pastille into Charlie's dinner properly uneventful. ("Why didn't you tell me you were home, you git?") Percy, however, understood immediately. Work orders were work orders, and it just wouldn't be proper to go broadcasting his brief homecoming as a social visit. Molly had overheard Hermione discussing her new adventure with Percy, Fleur, and Ginny, and was having a very hard time coming to terms with it, despite the pleas that everyone would indeed be home for the Christmas holidays next month.  
  
Charlie was, on the other hand, receiving deep scrutiny from the remainder of the Weasley boys, as well as Harry Potter. He had expected them to all be worried about her safety, but he was not expecting Ron to threaten his testicles if anything happened to the younger woman. He reminded them all multiple times that he had indeed been living on the same reserve for the past decade and knew how to watch out for people. They had all visited him over the holidays at some point and not a single hair was harmed on Ginny's head. If he could watch out for their sister, he could certainly keep an eye on a fully grown witch such as Hermione. All anyone could think of, though, were the stories Charlie had told in the past of his near-misses with fire and claws. They were all rightfully horrified that Hermione would return home covered in burns and scars like Charlie himself.  
  
\-----  
  
The following week was fairly normal for Charlie. It went about as well as any of his other visits home, only this time, he supposed his mother had a decent reason to be upset with him. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate her worry, but her treating him like he was barking mad didn't help his temper much. Molly Weasley was officially so annoyed with her son that she didn't even attempt to cut his hair. He was, however, granted temporary reprieve each evening when his siblings would come to visit over tea and supper. Charlie had even set some time aside to go see George in the shop in Diagon Alley, and to pick up a few books for Hermione. He was certain she had already read them, but these were new copies that could remain in her personal library as opposed to having to ask people to borrow one (the library on the Sanctuary had a certain knack for being either burned down or smashed to bits when the Horntails got a bit testy).  
  
He had waited patiently for Hermione to be granted indefinite leave from her position at the Ministry of Magic, not wanting to push her too quickly lest she remember that she was doing him a huge favor. She was certain to be paid handsomely for her work, but that didn't mean she was completely expected to leave her entire life behind. Charlie imagined she had a family and boyfriend to say goodbye to, as well as pack up her flat. After all, she would be living with him on the reserve for at least two years, and would join him for the occasional stay at the Burrow, or at the flat Ron and Harry shared - no point in paying for a flat in London.  
  
Their portkey left 12 hours later than anticipated, turning Sunday dinner into Monday breakfast (much to Molly's barely hidden delight), but, even for someone upset with her children, she still made sure they had plenty of sandwiches to stuff into their duffels to take back to Romania.  
  
Both Hermione and Charlie had spent a fair amount of time saying goodbye to the Weasley clan before flooing to the international portkey station. They were through customs with 15 minutes to spare until departure before Charlie uttered potentially the stupidest words that could ever left his mouth:  
  
"You really don't have to do this for me, you know."  
  
The shock in her face immediately made him want to hit himself over the head with a beater's bat, but the words were out before he could even think them, and there really was no taking them back.  
  
"Charlie…" she started, her voice low and eyes on the floor like he hit her with a Permanent-Sticking charm.  
  
"No, really, Hermione. I truly appreciate the fact that you're coming back with me, but honestly, I'm sure you don't need to walk away from your life in order to help me along with mine."  
  
"And what makes you think I'm doing this solely for your own personal benefit?" she shot back, obviously insulted that he was insinuating she had walked away from her life for two entire years because he had simply asked her to. Hermione Granger was the textbook definition of feminist: she absolutely would never do anything in her life simply because a man asked her to, and they all knew it.  
  
“I'm not coming because you will specifically benefit, so pull your swollen skull out of your arse. I'm doing this because I _want_ to and because I think it would be a very interesting learning experience."  
  
She had finally picked her eyes up from the floor and fixed him with a glare that could rival his own mother's. He had really put his foot into it this time.  
  
"That's not really…what I meant, per se. I know everything is so sudden, and I know you have your own life to live, and I feel like a fucking prat for asking you to drop your entire life after one week to get everything together and just…put it on hold for a few years. That's all I was trying to say, really."  
  
Her eyes softened but her face did not. Her lips pursed and now she reminded him more of Professor McGonagall, and that was right terrifying. Fearing he would only make things somehow worse if he kept talking, he opted to revert his gaze to the floor until it was time for them to tighten their duffle bags on their shoulders and put a finger to the rusted Zippo lighter that would pull their navels all the way home.  
  
\-----  
  
Romania was certainly warmer than England in the winter time. That was the first thing Hermione noticed as soon as her feet slammed into the ground -- now she knew why Charlie had always opted to come home in a dragon hide jacket instead of winter robes like most wizarding Britain. The second thing she noticed was how green everything was. They had landed atop a beautiful hill overlooking the reserve and surrounding mountains; she wasn't sure why she hadn't expected mountains. Most dragons on the Eurasian plate preferred a mountainous habitat, but she hadn't truly thought that through in the physical sense. It seemed as if she had a lot to learn in these next two years.  
  
"Oh, Merlin, it's absolutely stunning," was about all she could manage as Charlie grabbed her hand and tugged her down the hill towards her new home. She couldn't see his face, but she could tell by the way he was holding himself that those words were exactly what he needed to hear to wipe their previous tiff out of his mind.  
  
"We'll go straight to Luke's office and figure out which hut you'll be staying in, and then I'll help you get settled. Oh! I should also show you mine so you know where I live and what it looks like. Know that you shouldn't be scared to ever come see me or work at the kitchen table or anything. And then it should be about time for supper and I'll take you to the mess tent with me and you can meet everyone! Well, not everyone, but most! Maybe after supper, I'll have a chance to show you around and…"  
  
He was cut off as she immediately stopped walking and felt the tug on his arm. He froze and turned around slowly, suddenly worried that he was shoving her into this too fast and she would turn on her heel and leave.  
  
"Charlie, it's okay. Quit babbling. We have two years to get all of those things done! Tonight is just the first night. Let's put your things away, figure out where to put mine, and then we'll worry about a spot of supper. I don't want to cause you any trouble."  
  
Charlie just grinned. It was his trademark lopsided grin that made most girls melt and he knew it. _Wonder if it works on her?_ he thought idly to himself with a guilty twinge in his stomach. He knew he was talking too much, but he didn't really care. He had finally been able to bring someone in to work in his mountains, and it was Hermione, no less. Not even Circe could judge the man for getting excited. They looked at each other for a moment before he shrugged and continued pulling her down the hill towards her new home.  
  
Merlin, it was sure to be a fun few years.  
  
——-  
  
As soon as they had crossed through the protective enchantments, Hermione could see why Charlie was so keen to share this place with the people in his life. They walked by many gated and hidden areas, each adorned with a small sign explaining which dragon was in which pen and the name they had been given. Towards what she could only imagine was the center of the Reserve, they entered what she would describe as a small wizarding village. Somewhere between the massive cluster of huts, she spied a small fire pit where she was sure most of the workers would go after a long day to blow off some steam and discuss everything they had recently experienced. Hermione barely had time to register which home could potentially be hers before Charlie dragged her into one of the biggest buildings nearest the center.  
  
As he had arranged their portkey, Luke knew when they would be arriving, and was waiting outside his office for them to arrive.  
  
"Charlie Weasley! You never told me the brightest witch of her age was so pretty," he grinned, taking Hermione's offered hand and, instead of shaking it, placed a suave kiss on the top. Charlie noticed the flush creep up her neck and scowled silently.  
  
"You must be Mr. Macmillan. Lovely to meet you, sir. I'm Hermione Granger. Charmed, I'm sure." She withdrew her hand slowly, suddenly very unsure of herself. The man beside her seemed very uncomfortable with the situation and she wasn't entirely sure why, but felt the dire need to make it as totally not weird as possible.  
  
"Miss Granger, please feel free to call me Luke. I may be your employer for the next few years, but let us not forget that you are the one granting everyone such a large favor. I tremble to think what it must feel like to be on your bad side."  
  
Hermione's flush only deepened, and Charlie stood there dumbfounded, trying to figure out what in the hell was going on. Hermione, for one, was very difficult to make blush -- he had been personally directing the tests for years. And Luke, he knew, was married, and not a flirt, especially with his direct charge. Before he had a chance to participate in the conversation, however, Luke had taken Hermione's pack off of her shoulder and passed it to Charlie.  
  
"Take her things to her new living quarters, won't you? She'll be sharing with Margaret Cooper for the time being, until we can rearrange and give her her own space. I believe Miss Granger and I have much to discuss." Luke winked at Charlie knowingly; he knew how uncomfortable the red-head would be with his little brother's best friend sharing a living space with the only girl on the reserve he had attempted to woo over the years. Charlie's shoulders tightened and nodded in the affirmative before hauling both bags out of the room, quite dismayed to hear the young woman giggle, "Please, Luke. Call me Hermione. Shall we hop to our discussion or shall we have tea first?"  
  
\------  
  
Charlie grumbled his way all the way through the maze of huts and other small buildings, eager to put his things down in his own bungalow before making his way over to Margaret and Hermione's. It wasn't that far, there were maybe four or five houses in between, but he deliberately took his time walking over there. The last time he had been alone with Margaret hadn't gone spectacularly well; she had shut down his advances, once again, and the next time had seen her, she was sneaking off to Cecil's tent. He wasn't entirely sure how he had felt about the entire situation. Margaret was essentially the only woman Charlie had harbored romantic feelings for over the last few years, and Cecil was his old partner, so he wasn't exactly thrilled, to say the least. All three of them had been avoiding each other since the incident, but now it seemed that they would be seeing a fair amount of each other now that Hermione was around.  
  
Taking a quiet moment to gather his courage, Charlie tapped quietly on the door. "Oh, shite…" he heard someone mumble inside, "just a moment!"  
  
Not two minutes later, a flushed woman appeared before him. She had clearly been up to something, with someone, as the buttons on her shirt were connected to random bits of fabric quite haphazardly and she was pulling her long black hair into a messy bun.  
  
"Oh, um, hello Charlie…" she huffed, obviously displeased it was this particular man showing up at her front door.  
  
"Hey, Marge," he attempted his lopsided grin, but probably failed, as she merely sighed and stepped away from the door, wordlessly inviting him inside. He just followed quietly and tried to keep his eyes down and away. "I'm just here to drop off the effects belonging to your new roommate."  
  
As he moved towards a chair in the small kitchen, looking for a place to set down Hermione's bag, a very disheveled Cecil Davies stepped out of the bathroom. Both men shared a short nod of acknowledgment before Charlie busied himself with setting the bag down as gingerly as possible. It was quite heavy, because, as he recalled, Hermione was quite skilled at expansion charms.  
  
"Uh…right then. Sorry to interrupt. I'll just be off now," he faltered, trying to not make eye contact as he shuffled out and away from the offending home. All of the thoughts he had harbored about the next two years being enjoyable with Hermione around were suddenly pushed from his mind with a heavy sigh. Why couldn't anything ever be easy?  
  
\-----  
  
Lost in his thoughts, Charlie hardly realized he had automatically settled into his own kitchen with a rather large glass of mead. Anytime he saw Margaret and Cecil together, his mind went through numerous years of flashbacks of his old flame and former partner. In his sad stupor, he hadn't noticed the curly haired brunette watching him quietly through the doorway.  
  
"What's the story, morning glory?" Hermione inquired in a soft voice, slipping through his kitchen and pouring a rather generous helping of mead for herself before settling directly across from him at his own kitchen table.  
  
"It's a rather long story, and I would prefer to not get into it just now."  
  
"Charlie, I'll get it out of you eventually. We're stuck together for the next two years, you know." She was still smiling softly at him; Hermione was so unused to seeing Charlie in a fit of despair and it was a bit unnerving. Every time she had seen him while growing up, he was so happy and carefree, save for the more solemn affairs they had attended after the war. It had never gone unnoticed, however, that he was always alone.  
  
The older man simply sighed and ran his hands through his hair ( _a habit not unlike Harry_ , she thought to herself) before dragging them down his face. By the time he was finished, his frown had faltered into a forced smile. She could, however, still see the sadness in his eyes.  
  
"How about we head to the mess hall? I'm sure Travis, he’s my partner, is there and would probably like to know why I disappeared without warning last week."  
  
She simply shrugged and took a sip of her mead. “Whatever you like, Charlie." She stood and moved to set her cup down near the sink, thinking to only temporarily abandon it and come back for it before bed.  
  
"You can bring the cup, Hermione," he informed her, his smile less forced now. "Come to think of it, bring the bottle. I'm sure the boys would appreciate a pretty witch coming to meet them with a few drinks in her hand." Hermione was a bit shocked that she was allowed to carry alcoholic beverages around with her.  
  
"We're in the residential area, so it really isn't a big deal," Charlie convinced her. Granted, one could drink IN the mess hall, and in their homes, and around the campfire, but walking around with her cup in her hand seemed like she was breaking some unknown law.  
  
She carried a sheepish smile as they crossed the threshold into the mess halltogether, Hermione with her half glass of mead, and Charlie with the bottle. A few people stood up to greet him as he crossed to his favorite table where Travis was sitting with a few other residents.  
  
"Charlie! Where the hell have ya been, mate?" his partner inquired just before noticing the beautiful witch all but on his arm. "Ditched us to pick up a beautiful bird, did ya?"  
  
The newcomers blushed simultaneously, but only for a few similar reasons. Charlie knew he was serious, and didn't blame him, and Hermione just wasn't used to large men calling her beautiful.  
  
"Travis, this is my good friend Hermione. She's here to help out with some research for Luke on the history of the reserve. Hermione, this is my partner, Travis Wormwood."  
  
Travis shook her hand as a look of comprehension crossed his features. "Hermione, as in, Hermione GRANGER? Defeater of You-Know-Who and best friend of Harry Potter?"  
  
The young witch smiled demurely and continued to shake his hand with confidence. "The very same. And don't think I'm unaware of your own existence, Travis Wormwood. Charlie has thrilled me with tales of your adventures for a few years now."  
  
"Thrilling, eh?" Travis wondered, waggling his eyebrows a bit.  
  
"Alright, alright," Charlie interrupted, pushing the bottle of mead towards his best friend. "Sit down and drink. We don't want to scare her off on her first night, yeah? Plenty of time to woo the fresh blood." He winked at Hermione with a note of finality, pulling her towards the table. "Travis'll hold your attention for ages, if you allow it," he informed her.  
  
Hermione merely nodded with a giant smile, mainly directed towards Travis, before following Charlie towards the table full of his friends.  
  
"Alright, you gits, listen up," he announced, clearly demanding the attention of the group chatting animatedly around him. "This is Hermione. She's here to work with Jonah, Mathilde, and Fabian." She saw a few nods of understanding flow through the group at his words. "She's here under my consultation, so if anyone has any issues, bring them to me directly or I'll see to it you meet the mean end of a nesting Horntail."  
  
After a few moments of shocked stares, Hermione finally cleared her throat loudly and waved slightly. The table was immediately a mess of conversation and introductions, but she didn't catch as many names as there were people sitting around her. She did register a few, even if they were of those in conversation with Charlie.  
  
There was Lars Alfredsson, a large blonde man from somewhere in the Scandinavian region, clearly at home in Romania even though he could have probably been working in Sweden. He was seated next to a slightly smaller, but darker, man named Cecil Davies. Charlie didn't speak much to him, and she made a mental note to ask about it later. Across from Cecil was one of the darkest men Hermione had ever seen, and she was fairly positive his name was Max, but she couldn't place where his thick accent was from over the volume of conversation around her. There were a few more people with them, all drinking and talking, but she was soon caught up in conversation with Cecil, immediately to her right, about the history of Occlumency and if it could be used on dragons, and why or why not, solely based on the theory that most of the giant reptiles were actually very skilled in telepathy, but how all research on the topic had been destroyed in the late 17th century.  
  
All in all, Hermione had felt that she fit in with this motley crew, especially after a few glasses of mead, and allowed them to lead her outside to the fire pit, readily accepting a large glass of firewhiskey in favor of the weaker mead. She talked and laughed with the group for what must have been hours, and, for the first time in a long time, she felt that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.  
  
\-----  
  
Christmas at the Burrow arrived quickly and was one of the most exciting ones in Charlie's recent memory. Fleur and Bill had announced that she was once again pregnant, Harry and Ginny had announced their engagement, and Ron actually brought a girl home. In Molly's eyes, this meant that Hermione and Charlie were her only unattached children, and would remind them of this any time she felt stable between her fits of happy tears.   
  
Molly was also starting to accept the fact that Hermione was quickly growing fond of Romania, but didn't waste any time berating Charlie into promising to continue keeping an eye out for her. She simply didn't care that there were plenty of people keeping an eye on the young woman, especially because she didn't know them personally, and refused to hear Hermione's protests that she did indeed know what she was doing.  
  
"Honestly, Mrs. Weasley, I usually spend my days in closed quarters going through files and making notes," Hermione tried to convince her stand-in mum, summoning her bag and displaying the large stack of papers she had brought along for the holidays, not wanting to deviate from her usual workday.  
  
"That's all well and good, love, but a mum still worries. Have you received the packages I've been sending you? I haven't sent them individually, and for that, I am so sorry, but it's a bit of a jaunt for the family owl. He's getting quite old, you see, so I've been sending them straight to Charlie. He's familiar with that route, and I would hate to confuse him…"  
  
"Mum, yes. She gets them. She picks them up from my flat every evening after supper, and we always share dessert. Have a little faith, yeah?" Charlie mumbled, feeling the tips of his ears get pink as he thought about the few evenings they had spent together, happily chatting over cakes and tea.  
  
"Well, as long as you're sure, dear…"  
  
Before they knew it, the Christmas holidays were over, and Charlie and Hermione were headed back to Romania. After much convincing, Molly was seemingly satisfied that Hermione was in a safe environment and very happy there. She had plenty of things to read, people to discuss them with, and had the satisfaction that all of the adventures were only an arm's length away. Her blatant lack of scrapes and scars seemed to be enough to convince the eldest Weasley woman, and, after a tearful goodbye, they left the family home and were once again on their way across the continent.  
  
\-----  
  
Hermione spent the next few months getting adjusted to her new home in Romania. She was getting on well enough with her roommate Margaret, but felt a bit odd around Margaret's boyfriend Cecil. No one really talked about it, but there was an obvious tension between the pair and Charlie, and Hermione wasn't entirely too sure whose side was right and who was being a baby; granted, she didn't really know the whole story, but had spent plenty of evenings frustrated with how Cecil insisted on speaking with her. Though she had proven on her first night that she was intelligent enough and a very accomplished witch, it didn't stop him from babying her any time they were in a situation any sane person would call "dangerous."  
  
"Honestly," she remembered remarking to Charlie one night, a few weeks into her stay, as they had after-dinner tea in his cozy home. "He acts as if he has to protect me any time I get close enough to the gate to study any of the creatures from afar. God forbid I even reach for the door to the hatchery! 'Now, Hermione, we wouldn't want our smartest researcher burnt to a crisp, would we?' Pah! He acts as if I've spent my life in a glass house! He's driving me absolutely mad!" She was beginning to shriek now, and Charlie simply stirred his tea. He was in no state to interrupt her ranting; he honestly wasn't even sure how he would at this point. All the older wizard had asked was how she was settling into her home with Margaret. 'Women,' he thought to himself. "Never even heard of the Beatles and he thinks he's so much smarter than me…" He wasn't really registering her words anymore, which seemed alright, as she had resorted to muttering to herself, too.  
  
 _\-----  
_ _  
_The Romanian Dragon Sanctuary was much bigger than Hermione had originally anticipated. While everything was mostly accessible from the center of the village, she hadn't realized just how many places there were in the area you could only get to by broom. She had never been fond of flying, so these areas remained foreign to her. Most of her time was spent in an office filing room, anyway, going through as many documents as she could handle in a day, and removing any file folders containing information she wanted to look deeper into. A lot of the things she came across were employee reports from various injuries or discoveries, or even anything interesting one of the dragons had done that its keeper thought pertinent enough to be on record. She was somewhat surprised to see how many of these little discoveries had been made by Charlie; there were certainly enough files in the stack with clever notes in his messy scrawl, barely legible, but always signed off "CSW" so she knew they were written by her friend. Some of these she filed into a different compartment of her brain to ask him about later. Most of it wasn't important to her task at all, but she was curious about the stories surrounding what made this written information so important to him.  
  
The new witch on the block was settling into her new life quite comfortably. Almost daily, she would head with Margaret to the mess hall for a spot of breakfast. Hermione had become accustomed to sitting with fellow researchers Mathilde and Jonah, and they would discuss everything they had been working on the previous day. They had all found that sleeping on everything they had written down yesterday made it a bit easier to draw concrete conclusions, and they discussed possibilities and potential meanings of anything they deemed worthy of further discussion. Creating a bond with these people had also meant they were very patient and helpful with Hermione, teaching her the particular filing system they had adapted over the years (alphabetical by dragon breed, then by dragon name, then chronologically, separated by 'important discoveries' and 'interesting personality traits'), therefore making her own research go that much smoother. Mathilde had even gone so far as to show Hermione around the important buildings she would be spending her time in (essentially any room containing files and books), and they were becoming quite fond of one another.  
  
After breakfast meant Hermione would be on her own for the majority of the day, generally taking a short break for lunch when she joined the healers, Glenys and Margaret, in the medical ward. On a slow day, she would sit with them for a few hours making notes on files she had brought with her, and writing down anything she deemed questionable or warranted a more thorough investigation. If they were busy, however, she would simply sit in the library and spread out all of her morning's work on two or more tables. The library on the reserve was on the small side, likely because it kept burning down and they had gotten tired of constantly rebuilding it, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. It was usually empty, but she would find the occasional keeper writing up their own reports to submit to Macmillan before supper.  
  
Hermione, Charlie, and Travis seemed to always eat their supper together, often joined by a few of their friends, and would discuss their days. The two men would occasionally clarify some of the questionable discoveries she had made if she couldn't find the answers she craved in a book. Charlie and Hermione would then wander off to his hut for tea and a round of Exploding Snap. Travis would occasionally join them later in the night for a nightcap and to walk Hermione back to the small house she shared with Margaret.  
  
On the nights Travis didn't join them, the pair would generally sit in silence, both doing their respective paperwork at Charlie's kitchen table, but they also spent a decent amount of time chatting happily over whatever confection Molly had thought to send them. Charlie had noticed that she was now sending twice as much twice as often on account of Hermione being there to share with him, and he found that he didn't mind one bit.  
  
They talked about whatever Hermione was working on, or whatever Charlie and Travis had done that day, but they also talked about their Hogwarts years, the differences in growing up in a muggle household versus a wizarding one, and anything else under the sun. The one thing they didn't routinely discuss was Quidditch, or, rather, Hermione's blatant lack of interest on the subject. She tended to bury her nose back into her books whenever the Bulgarian team would come up (which was fairly frequent as the country's team seemed to be mortal enemies with Romania), but he just chalked it up to her only being interested when Ginny or Harry were involved. Charlie also found he was getting to know his youngest brother and sister on a totally different level. He had spent the entirety of their school years in Romania, generally seeing them two or three times a year, and was enraptured with the stories she had to share. His favorites had to be the time Hermione had sent dozens of little birds to attack Ron in his sixth year for snogging Lavender Brown constantly, and generally any story that involved Ginny sending a wicked Bat-Bogey Hex at anyone she deemed necessary of punishment. He knew Bill had taught her that one at a young age, and felt a sick sense of pride well up within him anytime he heard about how cool she was.  
  
Even though they had never spent much time together before Hermione's job offer, Charlie noticed how wrong he was about her when Luke had first brought up her potential employment. This girl, _no, this woman_ , was capable of far more than he had ever imagined. He was positive she would be able to tame a dragon with a single glare, and he was quickly growing attached to their companionship. When she left each evening, he found that reminding himself that she was only around for a few years was an incredibly depressing thought. After their first three months together, he had a very sobering realization: he had never felt so at ease around a single human being in his entire life, and _that_ made him obscenely uncomfortable.  
  
\-----  
  
It took about a year for Hermione and Travis to start quietly seeing each other. They didn't have an obscene amount in common, but both were a bit lonely and interested in conversation that had more depth than, "Did you see how that Fireball reacted when Max managed to save her eggs? I thought he was a goner, for sure!"  
  
Travis had been a fourth year Ravenclaw when Hermione had been sorted into Gryffindor, and had been one of the few in school bitter that she wasn't a member of his own house. Later in their lives, however, he had been thankful for this; the way he was interested in her now would not have been tolerated at Hogwarts with their age separation, but those things very rarely mattered once both people were of age in the magical world.  
  
The two regularly snuck off the main path for a longer snog before bed, much to Charlie's chagrin. The time Hermione and Charlie would spend together without Travis was now being replaced with time Hermione and Travis would spend together without Charlie, and the two were definitely doing more than snogging in dark corners. Charlie wanted time alone with Hermione, too, and he would be damned if Travis' hormones split up their little group. So, he did the only thing he could think of: he muscled Travis away. Hermione could never know, of course (she would certainly hex him into next Christmas if she ever heard about it), and he only felt slightly guilty because this plan seemed to backfire even more. Instead of turning to him for comfort like she usually did, she just drew deeper into her solitude and barely spoke to anyone that wasn't Margaret.  
  
 _Dammit, Weasley. Another thing to fix. Stupid git.  
  
\-----  
  
_After two months of solitude and heartbreak, Charlie had somehow convinced Hermione Granger to attend a Quidditch match. Granted, it was quite helpful that it was the second round of the Quidditch World Cup, and some of the older keepers on the reserve had managed to get tickets. The young witch was originally slated to attend with Charlie's partner Travis Wormwood; Hermione and Travis had enjoyed a brief few months together before Travis had abruptly stopped talking to her. She was grossly unaware that the reasoning would be Charlie quietly threatening Travis with a few choice curses he had picked up on during the war. Around the time Travis had abruptly stopped speaking to her, she had attempted to charm his reasoning out of him before giving up a few days later. She had taken most dinners in her quarters ever since. Charlie, in an attempt to help her feel better, talked her into using the ticket procured by Travis, anyway, but spent the day with him, instead. More than ready for an excuse to spend a much needed day away from work, she eventually agreed.  
  
Travis almost forgotten, Charlie had still managed to talk Hermione into joining himself, Thom and Glenys Martin, and Thom's partner Max Roquefort for the second round of the Quidditch World Cup -- it was slated to be an excellent game, Romania vs Bulgaria, and Charlie was absolutely determined to make sure she had an excellent time. All seemed to be going well, until the players soared out onto the field; in his haste to buy any available tickets for any match in the country, he didn't even realize what this rivalry meant until the crowd roared for Bulgarian seeker Viktor Krum. Hermione immediately looked as if she had been frozen to the spot by a particularly comical body-bind curse, the roars of satisfaction froze in Charlie's throat; 'stupid, stupid, **stupid** !' he chastised himself, immediately feeling like the biggest prat in the world. In his haste to make her forget all about his best friend Travis Wormwood, he had completely forgotten about her other ex-boyfriend (and, coincidentally, famous seeker and TriWizard champion). 'Biggest prat ever' really didn't begin to cover it.  
  
\-----  
  
It was the first time in his life Charlie Weasley hadn't enjoyed a Quidditch match. Romania losing by ten points only had a little bit to do with it. What was truly bothering him was a combination of his stupidity in thinking Krum wouldn't want to speak to Hermione after the match, and being very annoyed with the fact that most of the stadium was aware Hermione Granger, war heroine, was in the stands alongside a group of large men. None of them had expected word to travel so swiftly, hoping to enjoy the match and apparate back to the reserve before anyone had noticed her, but how wrong they all were.  
  
During the beginning stages of the match, someone had noticed her, and the whispers started. Before the first six goals were scored, someone had whispered into Charlie's ear that Hermione Granger was somewhere in the stands, gracing them all with her presence, "No doubt in the top box. I heard she rekindled her relationship with Krum not long after the war," a middle-aged gossip had managed to convey. He instinctively wrapped a protective arm around her waist and drew her close to his body, attempting to show the older woman how many counts she had wrong. Hermione shuddered a bit at his touch, but allowed it once he had growled the situation into her ear in such a low voice she could barely make out the words, but she understood the point.  
  
The small group was attempting to make a quick exit when they were ushered away by a large Bulgarian man named Boris, chatting animatedly about how excited Viktor was at the prospect of visiting with an old friend. Hermione just smiled meekly and allowed the man to whisk her away, never once relinquishing her hold on Charlie. The other three simply followed, their faces seeming to share the same weary expression, as they all entered a large tent decorated lavishly, obviously where the Bulgarian team would be celebrating their victory after a quick shower and change beyond the curtains on the other side of the room.  
  
"Hermy-own!"  
  
They all heard the shocked cry and saw the disappointment settle over Charlie's face as the younger woman let go of his hand and strode forward to greet Viktor, a slightly strained smile finding its way onto her obviously uncomfortable demeanor.  
  
"Viktor! Hello," she started, a real smile crossing her face as the Quidditch star pulled her into a tight embrace.  
  
"It is vunderful to see you again, Hermy-own. I trust you are vell?" he questioned, kissing her cheek lightly. Max had to almost physically force Charlie into maintaining his position near the door, the red-head obviously attempting to show Viktor she wasn't his to kiss. Hell, she wasn't anyone's to kiss, but Viktor didn't need to know that. Glenys offered him a knowing and soft look; she was one of the few people who knew what had transpired between the older Weasley and his partner a few months ago, and he was only slightly comforted by it. He would be right brassed if he had talked Travis into backing down only to lose his front-running spot to some stupid Quidditch player because she had attended one ball on his arm seven years ago. The sound of her laughter brought Charlie back from his thoughts and into the conversation he so desperately didn't want to hear.  
  
"No, no, Viktor. I honestly forgot you were still playing for Bulgaria; I heard you had retired. I decided to attend the match with a few of my coworkers. I live in Romania now, you see…" she spoke slowly, desperately uninterested in his attempts to gloat about one of his better victories.  
  
"Ah, no. I have not yet left my team, though I have considered," he informed her quietly, his English improving a bit since the last time Charlie had seen him at the first task of the TriWizard Tournament at Hogwarts all those lifetimes ago.  
  
Charlie again let himself slip into his thoughts as he accepted a glass of firewhiskey gratefully from a lovely witch passing them along to the rapidly filling tent, no doubt expected to toast to a Bulgarian victory. Thom, Glenys, and Max also accepted awkwardly, not very interested in celebrating the loss of their adopted home country, but not wanting to seem rude. Charlie simply downed his glass in a long gulp, partially for confidence, but mainly for the personal strength to not pull Hermione into his own embrace and kiss her as an act of dominance over the athletes he was now surrounded by.  
  
A slight shriek entered his ears and completely cut across his thought process. Looking up and pushing his brain back to the present, Charlie saw Hermione push Viktor away; he hadn't seen what had transpired in front of him, but the way she was pointing his wand at him, she had obviously fought off some type of unwanted advance.  
  
"While the offer is quite flattering, Viktor, I assure you, I am _still_ quite uninterested," she spat, before turning on her heel and exiting the text, Glenys hot on her tail.  
  
Charlie barely recognized what the hell he was doing before his body was in the spot Hermione had vacated moments before.   
  
"You really shouldn't have done that," was all the warning Viktor Krum received before Charlie Weasley punched him straight in the mouth.  
  
\-----  
  
What felt like hours later, Charlie was half-carried through the enchantments of the reserve. If he thought he could just punch one of the most famous Quidditch players in the world without consequence, he was very, very wrong. Almost as soon as his fist had connected to teeth, both of the Bulgarian beaters had torn him away and started to attack him in return. Thankfully, Thom and Max had stayed behind, the three keepers were now engaged in a battle of fisticuffs with the entirety of the Bulgarian Quidditch team. Never before in his life had he been so happy to tame dragons for a living. The Bulgarians were strong, yes, but the Romanians were stronger. All three men managed to leave with their own share of cuts and bruises, but Charlie certainly got the worst of it.  
  
As soon as the three men had started to approach the path to lead them to town, Glenys and Hermione rushed the three bloodied men; what had taken them so long to follow was now evident, and both women were fluctuating between anger, terror, and concern.  
  
"What in the bleedin' hell…" was all Charlie heard from a direction vaguely in front of him before all he registered was darkness.  
  
\-----  
  
What must've been a few hours later, Charlie awoke surprisingly in his own bed. He had a wicked headache, and held a hand to it as he slowly swung his legs over the bed to stand up and find himself some pepper-up potion. He felt like the events of the day had all been some weird dream _("How in the hell would I wind up in a fight with an entire professional Quidditch team?")_ , he figured more like he had gotten rip-roaring drunk at the match and was now suffering the consequences with the worst hangover known to man.  
  
By the time he had managed his way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, he found a figure he was not expecting: Hermione. Her nose was buried in a book and furiously dictating notes to a quick-quotes quill poised about the parchment next to her, as per usual. She smiled up at him as he entered the room, abandoning her usual chair at his kitchen table to cross his small hut in a few quick strides, wrapping the larger man in a very tight hug. This action truly hurt his bruised ribs and he winced, but she barely noticed. She was so busy mumbling, "Charlie, oh, Charlie…" into his chest to feel his facial features change.  
  
"So I guess the Quidditch brawl wasn't some strange dream, then?" he attempted to joke, wrapping his arms around the witch clinging so tightly around him. He would've rested his chin on the top of her head, but she looked up at him too quickly, and now his mouth was about face level with her nose.  
  
"Charlie, why…?" she began, her eyes full of questions, but her tone grateful and worried.  
  
"What he did qualifies as assault, love. I was just trying to…" he faltered. What was he trying to do? Defend her honor? Protect her? He knew none of these answers would sit well with her, so he tried to think quickly, his blue eyes meeting her hazel. "I was trying to…"  
  
"I know," was all she got out before her mouth crashed into his own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, perhaps this wasn't as finished as I told myself it was...  
> My plan is to keep moving forward with this (and the occasional No Secrets) before returning to Open Secrets.  
> Here's to the early days! Enjoy, loves <3

“Hermione --” Charlie cut her off, slowly pulling back from her searing kiss. “Hermione, wait.” He took a moment to steady himself, suddenly dizzy, reaching a hand up to feel the bandages wrapped around his head. The burly keeper rolled his eyes and started unwrapping them slowly.  
  
“You really shouldn’t,” Hermione attempted softly, but reached her hand out to gather the gauze nonetheless, grateful for his distraction hiding her blush. Perhaps they would both continue forward like she hadn’t just snogged him in his kitchen. “I think someone stepped on your head at some point. I’m almost certain you have a concussion, Charlie, you really should rest.”   
  
“Nah, I’ve had worse. I’ll be fine,” Charlie assured her, shaking out his long hair and gingerly feeling the sides of his head. It felt as if Glenys had shaved part of his hair to properly dress a wound from a slicing hex on the right side. Charlie knew it would probably grow back at an odd angle and he’d have to cut the rest of his fiery red hair to match. He sighed at the realization and let his tired body drop into a chair, stomach growling loudly.   
  
“Oh!” Hermione yelped and started bustling around in the small kitchen that had become an extension of her own home. “I’m sure you’re absolutely starved by now. We’ve already missed dinner, but I could make some sandwiches, if you like?”   
  
“It’s alright.” he grumbled, hauling himself to his feet again. “I’ll just head down to the Basilisk.”   
  
“You absolutely will not, Charles Weasley,” Hermione scolded, shooting him a look that almost forced him back into his seat at the table. “You have a head wound and a concussion. The _last_ place you’re going is down to the pub.”   
  
“Hermione. I’m fine.” The force with which he spoke made her pause and meet his eyes with her own, both full of fire and determination to be ‘right’ in this scenario. They held eye contact like that for what felt like eons, neither moving and neither relenting. Then, as quickly as they had begun, Charlie coughed once. The sudden movement caused him to wince and grab at his side, only partially surprised to find more bandages down his torso. Apparently, an entire professional Quidditch team could do quite the number on a person, even if they weren’t Charlie-sized. He sighed again and lazily gestured towards the kitchen, silently letting Hermione know she had won this round.   
  
“I suspect your mum will be pleased Glenys had to shave the side of your head today,” Hermione mentioned casually as she busied herself at the counter, spreading mustard on a few pieces of sourdough. “I reckon it’ll grow itself out by the time you go home to visit, but --”   
  
“Please don’t tell her anything about this,” Charlie whispered. “Ginny will have my hide if she knows I went after Krum like that.”   
  
“Charlie, you’re injured and you _don’t_ want me to send a letter home?”   
  
“Course not,” he shrugged. “Do you know how often I hurt myself and don’t write a letter home? Mum would come running and drag me back to England by my ears if she knew.”   
  
“I suppose that’s true,” the brunette witch sighed, pivoting to set a tray of turkey sandwiches on the table before busying herself with a few glasses of pumpkin juice. “You should at least consider trimming the rest of your hair down to match for the time being. Glenys doesn’t want you magically growing your hair back again. She mentioned you have some permanent scarring somewhere on the other side because you wouldn’t leave it alone and insisted it was healed because your hair had all grown back.”   
  
“That was a puncture from a tooth, and it was over five years ago,” he countered. “This is merely a flesh wound. I’m sure it’ll be fine if I fix it up before my shift tomorrow.”   
  
“Oh, no you don’t,” Hermione scolded again between bites of her sandwich, “Glenys has made it perfectly clear that all three of you are on bed rest for at least two more days. She wants to make sure your concussion symptoms have dissipated and there’s no more pain potion left in your bloodstream before Luke will let you back into the field.”   
  
Charlie growled at that, none too pleased that he’d be stuck inside for the next two days. He had gone to the match for a reason: to get _outside_ , not find ways to keep him trapped in his small home. “At least I’ll be able to fix my hair before I go back,” he mused into his sandwich before biting off the piece that held his current heart’s desire. He really, really hated it when they forced him into keeping his hair cropped.   
  
“Don’t even think about it, Charlie, or I’ll have Glenys in here faster than you can say ‘Hermione, put the scissors down.’” Her small attempt at a joke did lighten the mood considerably as Charlie began to consider the possibility of letting Hermione cut his hair. He was sure she wouldn’t cut it brutally short like his mother did, but she might actually do something decent with it.   
  
“I can’t keep it like this,” he whined, softly running his hand along the missing patch of hair.   
  
“I’ll fix it when you’re not concussed,” Hermione promised as she sent their now-empty plates to the sink, not turning around to check on them as they began magically washing themselves. “Would you like a hand getting back up the stairs and into bed?”   
  
“No, that’s alright,” he yawned, standing with a small wince, touching his bruised up sides again. He suspected he had been kicked repeatedly and was sporting a few mended ribs and plenty of bruises. “I think I’ll keep down here for a while,” he threw out casually, flopping into his overstuffed and very worn brown leather couch.   
  
“If you’re sure…” Hermione worried at her bottom lip and reached for her bag, intent on tucking her notes into the appropriate books after she stuck her quill between the pieces of elastic keeping her hair out of her face. “You don’t have to leave,” he told her softly, shifting his weight on the couch to make room for her to sit next to him near the fire. “I wouldn’t mind the company.”   
  
Hermione hesitated. The heat of their kiss had been forgotten until that moment, as they were both distracted in making sure Charlie stayed upright and conscious. She was nervous now that sitting with him on the couch could turn into something neither of them were ready for.   
  
While Charlie was so sure that Hermone had been unaware of his meddling all of those months before with Travis, she was still silently waiting for the day he realized she wasn’t completely obtuse. She had noticed the small changes in his body language - how he had turned his shoulder away from Travis slightly when Travis sat next to Charlie or Hermione, how he had also taken to having most meals alone in his home, how he seemed less excited to go to work than usual. Charlie had been avoiding her since her split with Travis, and she really didn’t care for it.   
  
She also hadn’t meant to kiss him so suddenly, but she was just so happy to see that he wasn’t permanently damaged. She had expected to be furious with Charlie, Max, and Thom for their stupid act of chivalry. In a normal world, she would be - she was well known for her abilities to fight her own battles. But, for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to be mad at Charlie. She thought it was actually quite sweet that he would sacrifice his time and body to make someone think twice about disrespecting her like that again. When Viktor touched her inappropriately, when he tried to kiss her like that in front of all of those people and Charlie lurched forward to protect her, she realized that she was _relieved_ that he would step up for her like that.   
  
She had wanted to kiss him then, but a brawl was imminent. Hell, she wanted to kiss him back in the stands at the Quidditch pitch when he protectively wrapped his arm around her waist to tell her about the rumours flying through the stands, but she held back and did her best to get through the day.   
  
Hermione jumped at the sound of Charlie clearing his throat. “Are you going to sit down or are you going to stand there catching wrackspurts?” Charlie joked softly, shuffling over as far as he could into the arm of the couch, making sure there was room for her to settle down without touching each other.   
  
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she bustled forward, dragging her bag with her as she settled into the couch, “I got lost in thought.” “Noticed that,” he mumbled, turning himself sideways so he could read over her shoulder. “What are you working on today?”   
  
“I’m actually going through your notes from Norbeta’s transfer and subsequent childhood,” she offered, holding them up to show Charlie his own messy scrawl.   
  
“And you can _read_ the dragon scratch I claim to be handwriting?” he chuckled, reaching out to take a better look at them. “I’m impressed.”   
  
“When you spend six years editing homework for Ronald, you get used to making out the words hidden within the mess,” she smiled.   
  
“Here,” he offered, turning himself sideways on the couch, deftly swinging his leg above and around them both to drape it along the back of the couch, his outside leg still planted on the floor. Hermione stared at him confused for a moment before she realized he was offering her the expanse of his chest as a place for her to rest so he could read over her shoulder and help her decipher his own notes.   
  
She gulped slowly, shuffling her papers into the order she wanted them before turning and settling herself into him on the couch. “Can you see?” she asked, looking up at him softly from her spot against his chest.   
  
“Mmm,” he nodded, stifling a yawn and reading through a short section that he had almost completely forgotten about. He smiled softly to himself as he curled his inner arm lightly around her midsection, wiggling a little bit to make sure her weight was on the side of his torso that wasn’t currently healing.   
  
They remained that way, reading together on the couch, as the small amount of light outside completely disappeared and they continued studying by candle and firelight late into the night, neither of them daring to break the simplicity of their contact nor wanting to acknowledge the newly established intimacy.   
  
Charlie had learned a long time ago that some of the best things were often left unsaid, and he had no intention of running such a perfectly lovely moment twice in one day.  
  
\-----  
  
A bright light shining in her eyes roused Hermione from what was an easy slumber. It had been a few months since she had slept well and she was pleased to note she hadn’t been plagued by nightmares the night before. She was confused for a moment, but slowly took in her surroundings as her brain worked its way on. This wasn’t the first time she had woken up alone on Charlie’s couch, and it certainly wasn’t the first time they had fallen asleep next to one another, but it was the first time they had fallen asleep physically entwined. Waking up here all alone wasn’t really the start to her day that she was expecting.  
  
Hermione yawned and sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before giving her arms and back a good, long stretch. She half expected to turn her head and find Charlie at the table with a cup of tea, but he wasn’t there. She slowly lifted herself from the couch and padded across the wooden floor to check the upstairs bedroom - the lights were off and the bathroom door was open, leading her to believe he hadn’t slipped off to the loo or moved into his own bed. She frowned and turned to return to the sitting area, intent on gathering her things and heading back to the hut she shared with Margaret, but the front door opened before she was halfway there.  
  
“Good morning, sunshine,” Charlie greeted her with a lopsided grin. He had a cup in either hands, both steaming slightly, and a brown paper bag wrinkled between his fingers. “Sleep alright?” he asked, handing her one of the steaming cups before setting the bag on the table and settling into his preferred chair.  
  
“Pleasant enough,” she ventured, sitting down across the table from him, blowing at the steam from her cup before taking a tentative sip. She had expected it to be tea, but sometimes she forgot Charlie knew exactly how she liked it and was pleased he had remembered, though he hadn’t had much of a reason to forget, either. “And you?”  
  
Charlie shrugged as he started pulling wrapped breakfast sandwiches from the brown paper bag. “Alright, yeah. Woke up a little stiff this morning, but nothing a walk down to the mess hall couldn’t fix.” He flashed her another brilliant grin. “I managed to get there as they were putting out a fresh tray of egg and sausage sandwiches, so I thought I’d bring you breakfast.”  
  
“That was very kind of you, Charlie, thank you,” Hermione commented, reaching forward to select her breakfast. She was pleased when she unwrapped the paper to find a sandwich with plenty of egg and cheese, and just enough sausage to taste - again, exactly how she liked it.  
  
“Oh, it’s no worries,” Charlie tossed her thanks aside as he swallowed a monstrous bite. “Marge sends her regards and thanks you didn’t come home last night, by the way.”  
  
Hermione merely hummed to herself as she continued to eat in silence. Margaret and Cecil had become quite serious over the years, and Hermione had learned she much preferred coming home later in the evening as the couple weren’t the best at remembering silencing charms, or even making it to the bedroom before they made themselves comfortable in the small common space.  
  
“I assume you made a stop on the way home to check in with Glenys?” Hermione asked, tilting her head to see if there were any bandages poking out from his green t-shirt.  
  
“Sure did,” he assured her, balling up the paper from his sandwich and tossing it back into the paper bag. “I’ll have some bruising on my ribs for the next few days, but everything else has healed up quite well. Had to lie a bit and tell her I slept on my stomach last night, but that’s alright.” Hermione blushed at this - she hadn’t thought about it at the time, but falling asleep on top of him had probably prolonged some of the healing along his side.  
  
“It’s alright, Hermione, really,” Charlie told her softly, knowing she was probably thinking that she had made his injuries worse by sharing the couch. “I slept quite comfortably.” Her blush deepened significantly. “You know,” he continued, “I was thinking I could make you some dinner tonight? As a thank you for keeping an eye on me yesterday?”  
  
“Oh, you really don’t have to do that, Charlie. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time if you’ve been cleared of bed rest.”  
  
“I’m cleared to be moving around, but not to go back to work yet,” he corrected. “I’m still a little slow on my feet, so I’m forced to lie low until my ribs are fully healed. I tried to argue I’d be fine to work tomorrow, but Luke’s right furious with me and says I need to take some time to, er… work out my issues,” he finished lamely, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.  
  
“Issues?” Hermione questioned, slightly surprised. She knew Charlie had a wicked temper bubbling under his usual easy-going attitude, but she had never known that to get in the way of his job. If anything, it usually kept his team a little safer as everyone knew that, once Charlie shifted into his no-nonsense attitude, there was no arguing. When Charlie got serious and seized command, his decisions were quick, final, and almost always correct.  
  
“Yeah..” he started slowly, wincing a little as he lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Said I need to get my head together before I can get out in the field again. Said my judgement’s been cloudy for months and he’s been letting it slide because we can’t afford the gaps in the schedule, but my, erm, internalized rage needs to come to roost so I can get my head back in the game.” He paused to take a breath and wince again at his own admittance. He was sure Hermione was reading between the lines as he spoke.  
  
Hermione nodded slowly, pensively. “I see.”  
  
“Yeah, so, um..” he began again. He kept his eyes locked on hers even though he desperately wanted to look away, to look at anything else in the room other than the witch in front of him.  
  
“Yes?” She encouraged him softly.  
  
“So, can I make you dinner tonight? Just the two of us?”  
  
She considered his question for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. On one hand, having dinner with Charlie in his home wasn’t anything abnormal, but the last two days had brought about a lot of emotions she hadn’t had time to sort through just yet. The longer she sat there thinking, the more she noticed the hopeful expression on his face falter, no doubt taking her silence as rejection.  
  
“Hermione, it’s alright. You can tell me ‘no.’ I’m a grown man. I’ve been shut down plenty of times, it’s nothing new.” He ran his hand over the short hair on the side of his head as he rose from his seat, paper bag in hand, looking away from her to hide his disappointment.  
  
“Charlie…” she started, unsure of what to say. She wanted to argue that he wasn’t in a position to make dinner for the two of them, not while his side was still on the mend, and maybe they should head down to the pub together, just the two of them, in a few hours time. It seemed her hesitation was palpable and he took it the completely wrong way.  
  
“It’s fine. I’ll be fine,” he told her without turning around, instead heading up the stairs slowly and into the bathroom, intent on taking a long, hot shower. Maybe the steam would wash away the troubled thoughts building up in his head. He kicked the door closed roughly behind him and twisted the knobs to turn the shower on before closing the toilet lid and taking a seat, bending over gingerly to untie his boots without causing more strain on his ribs.  
  
There was a soft knock at the door and he raised his head slowly, not expecting Hermione to follow him and silently hoping she had gone home for the afternoon.  
  
“Charlie?” she called quietly. He froze as he heard her hand connect with the handle. “Charlie, are you decent? Can I come in?” He merely grunted and she took that as an affirmative and cracked the door open slowly. His body sitting on the toilet took up most of the open space, but she managed to squeeze her way in before sitting on the floor in front of him. Without saying a word, she began unlacing his boots for him and helped coax his feet out, then removed his thick socks, as well.  
  
“Thanks,” he mumbled, obviously embarrassed by her drive to help him when he had just stormed off and slammed the door, even if it was his own bathroom door that he had slammed. They sat there together in a palpable silence as the bathroom slowly filled with steam from the shower, staring at each other.  
  
“I, um… I suppose I should leave, shouldn’t I?” Hermione finally broke the silence, standing up from her uncomfortable position on the bathroom floor.  
  
“Unless you’re trying to skip dinner and straight to the fun part,” Charlie deadpanned, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it onto the neat pile Hermione had made of his socks and boots. Hermione blushed at the sight of the naked chest she had fallen asleep against less than twelve hours ago. This was not lost on Charlie, whose mood lifted considerably as his face split into his trademark grin.  
  
“Oh, um, I, um…” Hermione stuttered once more, clearly embarrassed at her lack of ability to string together coherent sentences today. “You should shower,” she started slowly, “and I’ll keep my ear out in case you lose your balance.” She grimaced slightly at the implication that she would be listening to the sounds of a grown man in the shower, but she supposed it was true enough. “I’ll just be out here,” she finished lamely before letting herself out of the bathroom as quickly as she had entered.  
  
She had gone into the bathroom to help him, she supposed, but she wasn’t entirely sure what her end goal had been in the first place. She sighed and leaned against the door heavily, trying to get her head together again. When she went upstairs after him, she had intended on inviting him down to the Battered Basilisk through the door before going home to shower and change herself, but she had lost control of her own actions and now she was even more flustered than before.  
  
Before she knew it, the door was opening behind her and she fell backwards into the wide expanse of Charlie’s chest, still completely bare. “Oh!” she gasped softly, flipping around to look him in the eye. He stood there dripping, one hand on her arm to steady her and the other holding a towel around his waist. Mercifully, it hadn’t fallen at their sudden contact, though it didn’t stop the blush spreading like wildfire across her features.  
  
“You weren’t kidding about keeping an ear out, eh, Hermione?” he grinned at her.  
  
“I, um, got a bit sidetracked,” she informed him, tearing her eyes off of him and moving aside so he could exit the bathroom and move into his bedroom.  
  
“Anything good going on in that head of yours?” he asked, pulling out various pieces of clothing from his dresser before moving to the bed to start getting dressed. He was clearly unbothered by her presence in the room as he bent over slowly to put his socks on himself, hardly caring that his towel wasn’t leaving much to her imagination.  
  
“I was going to ask you out for pints this afternoon,” she replied tightly, rooted to the spot, too intrigued to look away but too embarrassed to look him in the eye at the moment.  
  
“Pints?” Charlie asked, a little confused - not 20 minutes ago, she had denied him dinner, but apparently going out for pints just the two of them was perfectly acceptable.  
  
“Yes, pints,” she clarified, gulping and turning around as Charlie reached for his pants. “If you’re not well enough to work, I reckon you’re not well enough to cook a full meal. I thought we’d give Gregor the satisfaction of preparing it for us?”  
  
“I’m decent,” Charlie told her softly. He had gotten up from the bed and moved behind her while she kept her gaze locked on the Holyhead Harpies poster on his wall. She made a soft noise as she realized he was much closer than she expected.  
  
“Hermione Granger, are you asking me on a date?” Charlie asked, his voice barely above a whisper.  
  
“Yes,” she breathed, still slightly unsure of herself. “Yes, I suppose I am.”  
  
\-----  
  


“Oh, gods, I’ve got nothing to wear,” Hermione groaned into her closet. She had spent the last few hours fretting about her shared house, taking a long shower and putting an unfathomable amount of Sleekeazy’s into her wild mane in an attempt to tame it for a short while.  
  
“I don’t know why you’re so stressed out, Bows,” Willa commented from the other side of the room. Willa had joined the Reserve around the same time as Hermione had come around, but was training to be a full-fledged dragon handler. The two had formed a fast friendship, as evidenced by the relaxed way Willa was spread out on Hermione’s bed, legs crossed, flipping through the newest copy of Witch Weekly. “Haven’t you known each other for, like, a million years?”  
  
“Only about a decade,” Hermione shot back, not feeling any better.  
  
“A million years, ten years, whatever,” Willa waved her hand dismissively before turning the page. “Either way, it’s not like you’ve never seen each other look like shit before.”  
  
“Hey!” Hermione scoffed, whipping around and eyeing her friend with disdain. “Uncalled for, Wills.”  
  


“Fine,” Willa amended. “Have you not spent the last two days at his house helping him hobble around? He’s been pretty down this last year, don’t act like you haven’t noticed, and I’m sure he doesn’t care if you turn up in sweatpants and an old Quidditch jersey, alright? That’s all I was trying to say.”  
  
“I suppose you have a point,” Hermione sighed, pulling a pair of black denim jeans from her dresser and wiggling them up her hips. Willa simply rolled her eyes and waved her wand towards Hermione’s closet, summoning a casual yellow shirt that popped against Hermione’s dark complexion. “Put this on and take my leather,” Willa directed, flicking the magazine closed and pulling herself up and off the bed.  
  
“You look great, Hermione. Stop worrying! He’s been pining after you for years, so go get drunk, get yourself fucked good and proper, and just be happy, alright?” Before Hermione could argue, Willa gave her a fat wink and disappeared down the stairs. “I’ll leave my coat on the hook for you! Have fun!” she hollered up before slamming the front door behind her.  
  
“Where are you off to?” Cecil wondered aloud, hanging his head off the back of the couch so he could see up the stairs.  
  
“Oh, I didn’t tell you?” Margaret replied from the kitchen, “Bowie and Weasley are finally going out.”  
  
“Merlin, fucking _finally_ ,” Cecil replied, hoping this meant Charlie would stop shooting him dirty looks across the table any time they went out for pints and he and Margaret got cozy in the corner.  
  
“Oh, shut up, would you?” Hermione mumbled, finally emerging from her bedroom and bounding down the stairs. “I’m running late as it is.” With that, she threw on Willa’s dragonhide jacket and waved over her shoulder to Margaret and Cecil, Maggie grinning like a fool and Cecil wolf whistling her out the door.  
  
Hermione wasn’t expecting to find Charlie waiting on her porch when she came outside, but he was there, regardless. In the few hours since their parting, he had found someone to fix his hair so it was an even length around Glenys’ crude crop. He had also changed into a pair of fitted black denim jeans to match her own and a white t-shirt with a pack of cigarettes rolled up in one sleeve.  
  
“Hullo,” he greeted cheerfully, looking her up and down quickly. “You look like a lovely lady in need of an escort to the pub?”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know. I already have an escort lined up for the evening. He’s about this tall,” she indicated Charlie’s height with her hand, “and has a really awful haircut,” she grinned.  
  
“Sounds handsome, though I reckon he’s smart enough to figure out a pair of clippers all on his own,” Charlie replied, puffing his chest out slightly. Hermione merely chuckled and slipped her arm inside his as they set off down the mountain towards their favourite pub, the Battered Basilisk.  
  
The walk was awkward at first, both of them aware that it was their first trip down the mountain together, just the two of them as a pair. Usually, anyone walking down to the Basilisk would stop towards the gates and linger, having a smoke or a few quick pulls from a flask while they waited to see if anyone else would appear. Tonight, however, they held hands as they made their way down the mountain together, stopping every once in a while to make sure Charlie’s side was holding up alright.  
  
The walk down felt like it had barely started as Charlie pushed open the old yellow door, welcoming her into the Battered Basilisk. While they were both incredibly familiar with the old bar, this particular visit held something in the air - the future, perhaps.  
  
“After you,” Charlie grinned as he guided Hermione inside in front of him, his hand hovering just over her lower back as she led them to a booth tucked into the corner. They both took a moment to place their dinner and drink orders with Gregor and settled into their seats proper.  
  
“So, um..” Charlie began, suddenly completely unsure of himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been on a date, and he was finally with the one person he was hoping to take out for the last few years. “Read anything good lately?”  
  
Hermione snorted into her beer and looked up at him, slightly puzzled. “If you consider your own field notes quality content, then I suppose you could say I have.”  
  
“Right,” Charlie amended, completely forgetting that she was working her way through Norberta’s adolescence in his awful scrawl. “Forgot about that.”  
  
“Clearly,” Hermione chuckled, also finding herself stumped on what to talk about now that they were here. The conversation on the way down had flowed so easily that neither of them expected the change of scenery to cause a lull in their conversation. Perhaps it was because they were actually here, at the pub… alone, together, on purpose. She had expected it to feel a little off, but not at this magnitude. Something felt like it was missing. ‘Travis, maybe?’ she thought sadly to herself, taking another pull off of her beer.  
  
“I got a letter from Ron today,” Charlie began again, his tone light as he, too, struggled to find a decent conversation topic. Before she could ask about it, she was being shoved over to the corner of her bench by one of the regular bar patrons.  
  
“Hello, Andrei,” Hermione greeted through a very forced smile. “Lovely of you to join us.”  
  
“Aye,” the old, grizzled Romanian greeted them. He had brought over another round of pints and a few shots of firewhiskey for the table. “Very kind of you. Salut,” Charlie remarked, reaching for one of the firewhiskey shots and downing it without a second thought. “I needed that, thanks.”  
  
Hermione stared between Charlie and Andrei for a moment, waiting for Andrei to pass her a shot of firewhiskey. “Salut,” the two said in unison, stamping the shot glasses on the table before tossing back the contents.  
  
“Drink, enjoy, be merry,” Andrei reminded them before he ambled off to his usual seat at the bar.  
  
“Well, that was something,” Hermione smiled, enjoying the warmth spreading in her abdomen from the firewhiskey Andrei had so graciously provided. She wasn’t planning on drinking any liquor tonight, but she was second guessing the need to loosen her tongue with the way conversation kept stalling out. Before she could ask about Ron’s letter, however, Gregor appeared with dinner and another round of beer.  
  
“Thanks, Gregor,” Charlie smiled, tucking into his dinner immediately.  
  
“So, Ron’s letter?” Hermione asked conversationally between bites. “How are things at the shop?”  
  
“Oh, well, he mostly asked about you,” Charlie admitted. “Ginny told him about your split with Travis and he wanted me to make sure you’re holding up alright.” Hermione nodded once, all too used to the coddling she received from Ron and Harry. “Not to worry, though,” he told her with a grin. “I let him know you’re moving on and that I was taking you to dinner tonight.”  
  
“You _what_?!” Hermione hollered, dropping her fork and covering her mouth the second she realized how loud she had become.  
  
“I… told him I was taking you to dinner tonight?” Charlie said slowly, cocking his head further and further with each word.  
  
“And _why_ , pray tell, would you tell Ronald something so personal?”  
  
“Well, he’s my brother, and he was worried you were lonely.”  
  
“So you didn’t think to mention Maggie, or Willa, or literally anyone else that I spend my time with?”  
  
“Well, no, not exactly…” he began, immediately aware of how deeply he had fucked this up.  
  
“You also didn’t think to ask my consent before telling our family members the details of _my_ personal life?” Charlie was sure he was imagining things, but her hair seemed to be getting bigger somehow, despite the low humidity. She had set her fork down and was glaring at him across the table, but he was too sidetracked in trying to figure out how to chase down an owl and burn the letter he had mailed.  
  
“Bowie…” he began, voice almost pleading.  
  
“Oh, don’t you Bowie me, Weasley,” she grumbled, stabbing at something on her plate before deciding she was finished with it.  
  
“Hermione,” he said evenly, willing her to look up at him once more. “I told him I was taking you to the pub. I didn’t say that we would be alone, just that you have a social life and he needn’t worry.”  
  
Hermione frowned and reached for her beer again, unsure if she was comfortable with this turn of events. She hadn’t thought as far ahead as telling any of Charlie’s family that they had gone on a date once, or that she had kissed him just yesterday, Her head was spinning and she was incredibly grumpy.  
  
As she opened her mouth to say something, the pub door burst open and a steady stream of their colleagues wandered through, loud as always. Cecil and Margaret were attached at the hip, as usual, whispering fiercely to Willa, who had her arm around -- was that _Sorin_? Hermione scowled at the group, but especially her roommate and best friend, who both knew they were sure to find her there.  
  
“Alright, Charlie? Bowie?” Sorin called with a wave. He seemed to be the only one in the group that didn’t know they were gatecrashing. Hermione and Charlie both waved back uncomfortably before looking back to one another.  
  
“Should we go, um..” Charlie began, knowing full well he had somehow stuck his foot in it. As far as first dates go, he had done his absolute best at making it as unmemorable as possible.  
  
“Yes, I think that would be best,” Hermione agreed, throwing Willa’s coat over her shoulder and grabbing the remains of her pint, intent on joining the group at the opposite corner of the pub.  
  
“Oh, uh..” Charlie winced. He stood up, as well, and downed the rest of his pint quickly.  
  
“Was that not…what you meant?” Hermione asked him, once again puzzled.  
  
“No, no. It’s alright,” Charlie assured her, swallowing thickly. “I’m going to head out for a smoke. I’ll join you all soon.”  
  
“Okay,” Hermione replied, unsure as to why her voice was so small all of a sudden. Charlie froze for a moment and sucked his teeth before nodding, turning on his heel and making his way outside.  
  
\-----  
  


Even though the night had taken an unexpectedly awful turn, Charlie had resolved to not let it get him down too much - for now. The weather was lovely and he was grateful to be outside at night without a jacket, especially now that he desperately needed a few moments alone. He sighed deeply and took a moment before unrolling his sleeve, slipping out his pack of pub smokes, and shaking out a single cigarette. He reached into his front pocket for his lighter and realized that he hadn’t brought any fire with him as he patted down the rest of his pockets, hoping he had just misplaced it. “Bugger all,” he grumbled, sliding the cigarette behind his ear before turning to go ask Gregor for a pack of matches.  
  
“Need a light, mate?” Cecil asked, holding out a book of matches to Charlie. Cecil had apparently snuck outside while Charlie was busy giving himself a pat-down. “Thanks,” Charlie grunted, flicking the match quickly and lighting his cigarette on the small flame. “You seem pretty tense for a man on a first date,” Cecil observed between pulls.  
  
“If it’s a real date, I’d say it’s gone to shit in a Skiving Snackbox faster than any of my others,” the redhead sighed, suddenly very interested in watching the paper on his cigarette burn slowly.

Cecil was probably the last person in the world he wanted to be outside with right now - well, aside from Ron. Cecil frowned at that. Everyone was expecting their date to go swimmingly, and that the group showing up to spy from the opposite corner would be a real gas. When Willa suggested heading down the mountain, they had plans to taunt the pair, not give them an excuse to sit elsewhere.  
  
“That bad, eh?” Cecil sighed, feeling remorse for his former partner for the first time in years. Cecil and Charlie had been partners once upon a time, but Charlie’s fiery temper and Cecil’s preference to let everything roll by wound up a conflict of interest in the long run.  
  
“I crossed a line,” was all Charlie would say. He hadn’t been comfortable around his old partner in years. But, like it or not, Cecil still knew Charlie like the back of his hand, and Cecil mercifully wasn’t pushing the topic right now.  
  
“We really love each other, you know?” Cecil mentioned to the night sky, looking away. Charlie opened his mouth to speak before deciding otherwise and used the opportunity to take a long drag, instead. “Maggie and I, I mean,” Cecil needlessly clarified.  
  
“Bully for you,” Charlie grumbled, more to himself and the ground than to Cecil.  
  
“I just wanted you to know that,” Cecil told him softly, chancing a glance in Charlie’s direction. “I know we went about it all wrong and we were shitty to you, but it wasn’t for nought, you know?” Charlie nodded slowly, still not daring to look his former best friend in the eye.  
  
“We’re getting married next summer.” He had finally caught Charlie’s full attention. “Mags and I want you there, Char. Wouldn’t feel right if you weren’t. Doesn’t feel right that you still don’t talk to me much, but I guess that’s my own fault. I guess I thought you’d get over it eventually, or we’d split up and you and I would go back to the way things were, but…” Cecil trailed off, focusing his attention on making sure every last burning ember of his cigarette butt was completely extinguished.  
  
“We just miss you, Char. We all do.” With that, Cecil made a move for the door to head back inside before pausing and turning around, his eyes finally meeting Charlie’s. “We haven’t told anyone else yet. I wanted to tell you myself, but I wasn’t sure how. You should come have a drink with us.”  
  
Charlie nodded and ground out his cigarette under his boot, intent on keeping himself together with the small group of friends waiting for them inside. What he _really_ wanted to do was go back home, turn on the stereo, and crawl into a bottle of firewhiskey, but he knew Hermione would absolutely murder him if he disappeared without saying goodbye.  
  
“Alright,” Charlie agreed with a sigh, moving towards the door, “but this round’s on you.”  
  
\-----  
  
“Hermione, I need a wee,” Willa announced as Hermione and her beer made their way over to their usual round table in the corner.  
  
“Okay?” Hermione remarked, pulling out a chair, looking forward to sitting down with her friends.  
  
“No, WE need a wee,” Margaret corrected, taking Hermione’s beer out of her hand, setting it down on the table, and ushering her away by the elbow.  
  
“But I don’t need to use the loo?” Hermione questioned as she was torn away from the rest of the group.  
  
“Me, either,” Willa chirped happily, “but you obviously need to talk, and it’s the most private place in the world, the ladies.”  
  
Hermione groaned, not looking forward to being dragged into some ‘girl talk’ in the loo. She was in the mood to drink with her friends and forget about the incredibly awkward two hours she had just endured on the arm of Charlie Weasley.  
  
“Oh, hush up,” Maggie said forcefully, shouldering the door open and ushering both women inside. Margaret made her way inside behind them and turned around as she made it to the counter and pulled herself up, leaning against a dingy mirror. “Now, spill.”  
  
“Spill what?” Hermione sighed, absentmindedly braiding her hair and avoiding the steely gaze of her two friends. ‘Merlin, how long has it been since I’ve been dragged into the loo for a chat?” she wondered idly to herself, thinking fondly of the days at the Burrow when she and Ginny did something similar - except, back then, they would talk about Viktor, Ron, or Harry… mostly Harry. But the thought of Ronald reminded her of what Charlie had said to his youngest brother and her mood soured again.  
  
“That!” Willa pointed, quite literally, to Hermione’s furrowed brow. “Spill _that_! What’s with your shit attitude? This date has been a long time coming and you were in such a good mood when you left the house. What the hell’s gone and ruined your entire night?”  
  
Hermione sighed once more, and this one really came from her guts. She hadn’t really told anyone at work that she had dated Ron briefly after the Battle of Hogwarts and she was planning on avoiding the topic completely with anyone that asked. As far as she was concerned, it was a few months of chaste kisses and clammy hand-holding to appease Molly. They had been through so much together, had witnessed so much death and agony, and they each needed to find solace in something, _anything_ to muster the courage to wake up in the morning.  
  
“Was it really that bad?” Maggie asked, her face full of concern. Margaret knew better than anyone that Charlie had a knack for making things unpleasant when he tried too hard, but things between Charlie and Hermione seemed to be progressing fairly naturally over the last year and a half, the brief tryst with Travis included. “I know Charlie has a way of putting his foot in it, but..”  
  
“He told his brother!” Hermione finally cried out, burying her face in her hands.  
  
“And…?” Willa pushed, not following the train of thought.  
  
“He told Ron. My ex.” Hermione gestured broadly, hoping this would get her point across as she was finding herself completely at a loss for words.  
  
“He told your ex boyfriend _and_ his brother that you were going out?” Maggie asked, confused.  
  
“No!” Hermione cried again, “Ron, Charlie’s brother, IS my ex. And he told him that we were going out for dinner tonight - alone!”  
  
“Okay…” Willa began, sharing a glance with Maggie. They were both putting the pieces together slowly, but still not grasping why this was such a terrible thing. “Okay, so, Charlie told his brother, your ex boyfriend, that you were getting dinner together?”  
  
“Yes!” Hermione huffed, folding her arms across her chest. No one seemed to be understanding why she was so annoyed with Charlie, and it was making her annoyed with them, too.  
  
“Why is it weird that you and Charlie are getting dinner together?” Maggie asked softly.  
  
“Because, Mags, it could imply that we _are_ together.”  
  
“But did he tell his brother that you’re together?” Willa continued before Magie had the chance. They were on the same page at this point, regardless, so it didn’t really matter who asked which question.  
  
“Well, he didn’t explicitly say --”  
  
“Did Charlie tell Ron that you were going on a date?”  
  
“I don’t know, but --”  
  
“So you’re just assuming that Charlie went off and told everyone your business?”  
  
“Yes, but --”  
  
“Hermione.” Margaret was off the counter in one swift motion, and was now directly in front of Hermione, one hand on each shoulder. “Did Charlie tell his brother, your ex boyfriend, that you are on a date without consulting you?”  
  
Hermione was silent for a few moments, desperate to look at her feet but also refusing to tear her gaze away from her roommate. Maggie had learned to read her body language, anyway, so there was no point in trying to fight her. “No,” she finally sighed.  
  
“I don’t understand the problem here,” Willa announced.  
  
“I don’t understand the problem, either,” Margaret agreed, releasing her grip on Hermione, who sighed once more. Hermione supposed she didn’t understand the issue, either, but she had already bungled the evening so much, she wasn’t sure that there was any date that could be salvaged at this point.  
  
“Fine,” Hermione relented. “Perhaps there wasn’t much of an issue to begin with. You’re right.”  
  
“So why are you sabotaging yourself like this?” Willa wondered, flicking her own jacket on her friend’s shoulder. “You’re absolutely brilliant, you can hold your own against one of the most formidable men I’ve ever worked with, and you look absolutely brilliant in my jacket.” Hermione shuffled her feet uncomfortably in place and shook out her shoulders, really thinking over Willa’s question.  
  
“I don’t think I’m ready yet,” Hermione whispered after a tense moment of hesitation.  
  
“Oh, dollface,” Maggie cooed, pulling Hermione into a deep hug, her face full of concern and understanding. Travis dropping Hermione out of nowhere had really shaken the young woman. Most had forgotten about their short relationship by now, but Maggie knew better than anyone just how happy Hermione had been to have a companion, and how sad she had been to find herself alone again. Hermione sniffled into her shoulder once, twice, before finding her inner vigor. She pulled away suddenly and clapped her hands together once.  
  
“Alright,” she announced, “My date might have sucked because I am _not_ ready to date someone as permanent as Charlie, but that doesn’t mean this night has to be a waste, right?” Willa and Margaret smiled and nodded, unsure of where she was going with this but fully on board, anyway.  
  
“Are you proposing we get out of this dingy toilet and drink these men under the table?” Willa grinned wolfishly.  
  
“Oh, perhaps not _under_ the table…” Hermione grinned back, her spirits quickly picking up after her revelation to her two best female friends in Romania.  
  
Margaret let out a long and low whistle before yanking the door open and pushing both girls back into the dim light and loud noise of the bar.  
  
“Bowie is BACK, baby!” she hollered, flicking her wand at the jukebox and whistling along with the bright horn intro to her favorite song by Cake. “I think this revelation calls for a fresh round of firewhiskey! Wills, care to help a girl out?”  
  
Willa’s bright smile stayed plastered to her face as she gave Hermione a sharp, encouraging pat on the bum, sending her back to the table where Cecil and Charlie had appeared while they were having their chat. “Go fix it,” she encouraged. “Make them all wish they never stuck their foot in it!”  
  
\-----  
  
A few hours and plenty of drink later, Hermione found herself yawning in her seat.  
  
“Are you about ready to go home, Bowie?” Charlie asked. He had been on his best behavior since he came back inside with Cecil earlier. The two men had decided to sit next to each other for the first time in years, much to everyone’s confusion, but seemed to be getting on like they did all of those years ago.  
  
“I think so,” she yawned again before finishing her final beer of the night and placing it back on the table.  
  
“I think I’m ready, too, if you don’t mind me walking you home?” he asked softly, worried that suggesting they go home alone might be untoward or unwelcome.  
  
“That would be lovely, Charlie, thank you,” she told him, leaving a pile of coins on the table before standing up again slowly. “Goodnight, you lot,” Hermione waved before turning and making her way out the door, Charlie close on her heels.  
  
The walk back up the mountain was fairly quiet, Hermione too sleepy to concentrate on making small talk, and Charlie keeping his hands and mouth busy by alternating puffs between the remains of a joint Sorin had given him and the cigarettes tucked into his sleeve. Before they knew it, they were in front of Hermione’s house.  
  
"So, no goodnight kiss, I reckon?" Charlie wondered sheepishly, obviously not expecting anything other than a quick wave.  
  
"No, I don't suppose so," Hermione agreed, studying her feet.  
  
"That makes sense," Charlie breathed. "That was a bit rubbish for a first date, wasn't it?"  
  
Hermione couldn't help the small smile that spread across her face and pulled the side of her mouth up gently. "It really was rubbish, wasn't it?"  
  
"Yeah, but Cecil to the rescue, eh?"  
  
"Cecil?"  
  
"Yeah, Cecil. He talked me back inside. I couldn't believe it, either."  
  
"Well, I'm glad he did. I'm not sure I would've been able to look you in the eye tomorrow if you up and left me down there."  
  
Charlie smiled softly and shifted his weight uncomfortably, "I'm not sure I'd be able to look me in the eye, either."  
  
And there it was - a toothy smile. Charlie felt like he hadn't made Hermione smile in hours, and it was driving him bonkers.  
  
"Well, Mr. Weasley," she sighed, leaning over slightly to brush her lips against his cheek, "I best get to sleep before those wankers come back and wake me up."  
  
"Goodnight, Bowie."  
  
"Goodnight, Charlie."


	3. Chapter 3

It was a perfect evening in mid-June. The Carpathian Mountains were a phenomenal place to be during the summer, surrounded by lush greens and flowers. All told, it was the perfect setting for a bonfire.  
  
Bonfire nights on the reserve were one of the few where almost everyone stayed out late together, singing and laughing and drinking. It was the best part about summers in Romania, even if almost everyone had an early start in the morning. There would be more than a handful of hangovers tomorrow, but nothing the healers couldn’t handle if they were properly prepared.  
  
The fire had already been stoked by the time Hermione, Margaret, and Cecil made their way down to the clearing, a short stream of chairs levitating before them. They had long-since given up on any attempts to make the sturdy wooden benches more comfortable with various cushioning charms and everyone was tired of waking up with a serious backache from spending hours hunched forward, so most opted to bring their own seating for the night, often collecting them in the morning if they didn’t leave them outside for the duration of bonfire season. It was only Hermione’s second summer on the reserve, but she had already lost count of how many chairs had wound up in the possession of other people and had since learned to take hers home every night.  
  
“Hey, gang!” Willa called from the opposite side of the blazing flame, waving both arms above her head to catch their attention. “Over here! Come enjoy the view!”  
  
The trio made their way around the fire and set up their chairs a good distance back, not wanting to overheat before the night really began.  
  
“Which view?” Hermione wondered as she settled into her chair, setting down a small cooler next to her chair filled with her preferred beer, a bottle of firewhiskey, and some sandwiches for later. Willa just grinned and pointed her head over to her left - Charlie and Sorin had beaten everyone else to the firepit and were taking turns chopping more firewood to add to the stack. “Oh!” Hermione blushed, unable to tear her eyes away.  
  
“Not so bad, eh?” Willa grinned, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively as she watched her most recent love interest carry a stack of freshly-chopped wood to the pile.  
  
“So, Bowie, any exciting research plans tomorrow?” Cecil asked, not interested in watching two burly, shirtless men chopping wood like the women were.  
  
“Not particularly,” Hermione squeaked, her cheeks flushing. Charlie had sensed he was being watched and took a moment to look at her and shoot a wink before swinging his axe up once more. She hadn’t expected to be caught staring but realized, once she had been, that she had little interest in looking away. Something in the back of her head told her that Charlie didn’t mind, so she continued to watch him as he swung the axe up onto his shoulder and wiped his arm across his sweaty forehead.  
  
“Has he always had that tattoo on his side?” she pondered before realizing she had spoken.  
  
“The triangle?” Cecil clarified without following her eyes. “Yeah, it’s been there for years now.”  
  
“Eight years,” Charlie corrected, grinning and plopping his sweaty self into a chair next to Hermione. He opened up her cooler and stole a beer, cracking the seal without asking. “Did it myself.”  
  
“You gave yourself a tattoo?” Hermione asked, wincing at the thought.  
  
“Yeah,” Charlie told her casually, leaning back to stretch before draining half his can of beer. “Got bored. Was supposed to be all three Hallows, but I got a bit sidetracked and never finished.” He grinned and tossed back the rest of his beer, again rooting through Hermione’s extended cooler for another cold one.  
  
“I didn’t pack anything for you, Weasley,” Hermione scolded him lightly before pushing him away and pulling out the bottle of firewhiskey. “This is to share, but hands off my lager.”  
  
"Already drank what I brought down with me," he announced proudly, twisting the cap off of Ogden's Finest before taking a long pull. "Anyone fancy sharing with me tonight, or am I arse over teakettle for assuming all of my hard work would be appreciated with some well-earned beer?"  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Willa muttered with a roll of her eyes, tossing Charlie a beer from her own stash. “I brought enough down with me to kill a hippogriff, though it was intended for Sorin and I…”  
  
“Thanks, Wills,” Charlie grinned, cracking open another beer and sucking the foam off the top. “You’re a real keeper, you know that?” Willa smiled at him before turning to Sorin, who had joined them on their side of the fire while chairs appeared on all sides, most of the inhabitants of the sanctuary looking forward to the first large bonfire of the season.  
  
The majority of the night passed like any other, smaller groups engrossed in their own conversations, talking over one another and swapping stories. Even Luke and his wife, Patti, joined the group for a few hours. It was rare to find Luke outside of his office these days, but the man had some of the best dragon wrangling stories anyone had ever heard. Everyone that worked under him (which was literally everyone) always found their personal silence when he began to speak, knowing the story he shared would be life-threatening and contain some aspect that could help each and every one of them in the long run.  
  
“Char, remember the time Bert took off while you were scraping at his scale rot?” someone hollered from the other side of the blazing fire. Charlie laughed deep in his gut at the memory.  
  
“First and last time I ever rode a dragon!” he called back, raising Hermione’s bottle of firewhiskey for good measure before taking another pull and passing it around their small circle.  
  
“You’ve flown on a dragon?!” Hermione asked, completely taken aback.  
  
“Not on purpose,” Charlie shrugged. “As Lars said, I was scrubbing at some scale rot and he took off. Couldn’t really jump off once he was up in the air, now, could I?” He laughed at the memory of the Ridgeback - they hadn’t made it very far before Bert ran into the protective wards and was forced to circle the sky a few times before settling back down and allowing Charlie to finish taking care of him. The group laughed once more at the memory, moving into stories of scrubbing scale rot and checking up on various dragons currently in medical facilities.  
  
Before Charlie and Hermione’s group were ready, they noticed a distinct thinning of the crowd as the fire began to slowly die for the night. They had gone through the stack of firewood and many were out of the various food and drink they had brought along for the night and were slowly returning to their cabins. The group that was left behind was, unsurprisingly, the standard Battered Basilisk crew - meaning everyone had paired off at some point in the night, leaving Charlie and Hermione to flutter awkwardly around their attraction to one another, or finally do something about it.  
  
“Care to walk me home?” Hermione yawned, her attention back to Charlie once more. The two couples next to them were caught up in one another, whispering and giggling and snogging.  
  
“I suppose I could walk you to my cabin,” Charlie grinned, hand outstretched to help her up. He didn’t bother sending her chair or cooler anywhere as they were some of the last outside and there was nothing left to eat or drink in it, anyway. Hermione was incredibly grateful for his strength, as she needed both of his hands to haul herself out of her chair. She took a moment to compose herself before nodding and allowing him to lead her away from the fire pit and towards the cluster of houses to the north.  
  
“Charlie, my house is that way,” she reminded him, pointing away from them.  
  
“Mine isn’t,” he replied brightly, kissing her knuckles for good measure.  
  
“But my bed is over there,” she retorted lamely, unsure why she was protesting being dragged away through the dark with the handsome redhead. While she recognized she wasn’t ready to be his girlfriend, she didn’t see why that meant she couldn’t kiss him sometimes...just for fun.  
  
“Yeah, and mine’s just here,” Charlie announced, pulling her up short. “Much closer, yeah?”  
  
Hermione thought about this for a moment. “I suppose so. Where’s my chair?”  
  
“It’ll be there in the morning, Bows,” he shook his head, opening the door to his small home. “I really don’t want to walk all the way back to your house. Is this alright?” She considered for a long moment, debating between the long, dark walk back to her own house and the soft bed waiting just through the sitting room and up the stairs.  
  
“Well,” she started, “I don’t particularly fancy walking all that way in the dark…” she trailed off, fighting the urge to wring her hands in a state of drunken uncertainty.  
  
“Excellent!” Charlie grinned, leading the way inside. He went straight for the fridge to grab two more beers and plucked a bag of crisps from a nearby cupboard. “Quick snack before bed?” He held up the crisps and drinks with his trademark cocky grin as he watched Hermione approach him.  
  
“I don’t think that’s the snack I had in mind, Charlie,” she whispered, slightly surprised at the phrase that tumbled out of her mouth so readily.  
  
“Is that so?” Charlie grinned a bit wider. “Do tell.”  
  
“Oh, I think I’d much rather show you,” Hermione informed him before making her way up the stairs to bed.  
  
\-----  
  
For the second time in as many months, Hermione was roused from a deep sleep to bright sunlight in her eyes. She didn’t remember walking home last night, but the pounding in her head and softness of the thin blanket over her naked form told her that she had made it into A bed, at the very least. The thing she especially didn’t remember was bringing someone with her, but the soft breathing against the back of her neck and strong arm around her waist told her otherwise. She groaned to herself, glancing down and immediately recognizing the tattoos and freckles littering the body pressed against her own.  
  
“Oh, Merlin,” she chastised her drunk self, snippets of her post-bonfire activities coming to the front of her foggy brain. “Oh no, no, no…” The arm around her waist tightened and she felt herself being pulled back into his hard body, a few soft kisses peppering her shoulder.  
  
“G’morning,” Charlie muffled into her hair.  
  
“Charlie.” Hermione had found her voice and the way she said his name was cold, almost stony. His wandering hand froze. “Charlie, I need to leave.”  
  
“Wha--why?”  
  
The witch in his arms struggled against his strength, doing her best to get out from under him. Unfortunately, her wiggling against him was cropping up a few more problems than it solved.  
  
“Bowie, relax, I’m off today,” he yawned, releasing her from his grip to stretch. She took this as her opportunity to sit upright, taking the blanket with her.  
  
“That’s not the problem, Charlie,” Hermione bit out, hunting around his room for her various pieces of clothing that had been carelessly thrown off the night before.  
  
“Are you late?” he yawned, uncaring that he was left without a blanket.  
  
“No,” Hermione informed him, pulling her shirt over her head. “I shouldn’t be here. This was a bad idea. A really, really awful idea.”  
  
“What was a bad idea? Beers before bed?” Charlie wasn’t following, still confused as to why he found himself alone in bed while she got dressed to leave.  
  
“No! This!” She gestured between herself and Charlie, who was making absolutely no effort to cover a single portion of his naked body. “I shouldn’t have come here last night. I should have gone home! Alone!” she half-shrieked, upset that Drunk Hermione thought shagging Charlie was a phenomenal idea.  
  
“You didn’t want to walk all that way in the dark, drunk and alone,” Charlie reminded her. “We came back to mine. We had some fun, we got some sleep, everything’s fine.”  
  
“Everything is NOT fine!” she huffed, slamming the bathroom door. She desperately needed a wee and a glass of water, and, ugh, a hair elastic if the bird nest she called hair was anything to go off of. By the time she emerged, Charlie had pulled himself out of bed, thrown on a pair of sweatpants, and was waiting for her outside the bathroom door.  
  
“Bowie..” he began softly, clearly unhappy with her reaction to waking up next to him.  
  
“Charlie, no.” She walked away from him and began to descend the stairs, knowing full well he’d just follow her, anyway. She wasn’t wrong.  
  
“Hermione,” he tried again, a small pleading tone in his voice as he stumbled behind her. “Hermione, please talk to me.”  
  
“Talk about what, Charlie?”  
  
“This? Us? Why you’re so upset with me right now?”  
  
“I’m not upset with you right now, I am upset with myself. There is no ‘this’ and there is certainly no ‘us.’”  
  
Her clipped tone caused him to freeze at the bottom of the stairway.  
  
“This is obviously something, Hermione. Don’t deny it. Even if that something is just the occasional drunken shag, that’s okay! I can work with that.” The look on his face was sincere, but his eyes were cold. She had deeply offended him this morning and he was doing his best to keep his cool.  
  
“You’re better than the occasional drunken shag, Charlie,” she told him softly. “You deserve more. You deserve far more than I am capable of giving you.”  
  
“But --”  
  
She held up her hand to silence him. Her head was pounding, her stomach was sour, and she really needed to get home to shower before getting to work.  
  
“I’m not ready for a man like you, Charlie. This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”  
  
With that, she made her way into the bright sunlight of a Romanian morning, intent on making it through her day before breaking down everything that had happened in the last 12 hours. Something in the back of her mind told her this day would probably only get worse from here, and she was definitely not looking forward to it. To top it off, as she stepped into her own shower, she realized she had forgotten her chair.  
  
\-----  
  
It would be one thing to say Hermione’s shower was uneventful and calming, but that is not how it happened. She had come home after Margaret had left for work, and the hot water had run out as she was working soap into her face. She sighed and resigned to pick up the pace and skip washing her hair. Hermione washed her body quickly and turned off the lukewarm water, losing her balance at the wrong moment and stumbling out of the tub. This move caused her to send water droplets all over her towel, one wet corner slapping against her skin with a dull thud. She sighed again, increasingly annoyed as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, intent on getting ready for the day ahead.  
  
She was once again unhappy as she realized she had neglected her laundry yesterday and now had no clean socks to choose from. Thankful to be a witch, she cast her best cleaning charms on the least smelly pair she could find. “Great start to the day, I’d say,” she grumbled, pulling her thick hair into a chaotic heap on top of her head. Hermione scowled into her mirror and made her way back downstairs to gather her things and head to work.  
  
“Hi Cecil, bye Cecil!” she called over her shoulder to the shirtless man rooting for food in their shared kitchen. “I really need to move out,” Hermione thought to herself on her way to the library. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy living with Maggie, but, since their engagement, Cecil had slept at their house almost every night and she was tired of finding him naked in the common area every few days.  
  
Much like the rest of her morning, the walk to the library was unpleasant. Nobody stopped to speak to her, but she noticed a few people whispering and giggling as she walked by. Apparently Margaret had noticed Charlie hadn’t walked her to their house last night and the news had spread throughout the reserve faster than a nasty case of dragon pox. The only person that noticed her walking alone and actually caught up with her was, mercifully, Willa.  
  
“Alright, Bowie?” she asked, chipper as ever.  
  
“Not particularly,” Hermione grumbled, stomping her foot down on a particularly nasty crack in the ground.  
  
“What? Why?!” Willa asked, not expecting to find her friend in such a state. “You seemed quite keen to let Red take you home last night.”  
  
“That’s exactly the problem,” she half-hollered, throwing her arms up in exasperation. “A drunken night with a man is one thing, but with _Charlie_? Likely the worst idea I’ve ever had.”  
  
“Wait, wait, wait,” Willa said, grabbing Hermione and forcing them both to a standstill. “You and Weasley have been dancing around each other for months, if not years. You snog a few times, you have a single shitty date, and then you seal the deal a few weeks later. I fail to see how any part of that was a bad idea. You’ve surpassed the awkward dating stage now, yeah?”  
  
“No!” Hermione cried, stomping away again. Willa sighed and picked up her speed, catching up with ease. “Everything being awkward means this is obviously not going to work out in the long run! We work together, we have dinner together most nights, we go home together for holidays, we send joint birthday gifts…” she trailed off, realizing the list she was forming was far more couple-y than she intended.  
  
“So you’re telling me he’s rubbish in the sack. Got it.”  
  
“No!” Hermione blushed, “I never said that.”  
  
“But everything else you just told me implies that it _would_ work in the long run, so the only thing that makes sense here is that it was the worst sex of your life.”  
  
“It wasn’t terrible,” Hermione confirmed. “Truth be told, I only remember bits and pieces, but it certainly wasn’t the worst sex I’ve ever had.” She shrugged, slightly uncomfortable at the subject. She was used to hearing about Maggie and Willa’s sexual encounters, not the other way around.  
  
“Alright, then. I give up. Have it your way,” Willa sighed, disappointed. “Want to head into town with me? I’ve got a few things I need to pick up before my shift tomorrow.”  
  
“Can’t, Wills, sorry. I’m starting another batch of notes today.”  
  
“Are you sure about that?” Willa pointed at the library a few paces away - there was a small cluster of keepers surrounding the building, putting out yet another fire.  
  
“Lucinda must be in a mood today, too,” Hermione sighed. She knew there was no way anyone would allow her entrance into the library today, even if she hovered until the fire was completely out. “Fine, we can head into town. Can we stop for lunch? I’m starved.”  
  
“Only if you tell me the bits and pieces you remember from last night,” Willa grinned, a wicked gleam in her eye. “I’ll even buy the first round to loosen your tongue.”  
  
Hermione scowled slightly but agreed, anyway. If she was going to take an impromptu day off, she could at least have a mid-day stop at the Battered Basilisk. Perhaps it would help the lingering headache she’d been sporting since she woke up in Charlie’s arms. She frowned at the thought and turned on her heel, leading the way back across the reserve and down the mountain.  
  
“Oh, nice,” Willa snickered as they walked into the pub. Sitting at their usual table in the corner were Charlie and Travis, deep in their own discussion. If Willa weren’t immediately behind her, Hermione probably would have turned around and left to find lunch elsewhere, but her friend sensed her hesitation and pushed her toward the opposite corner, waving to the boys over her shoulder.  
  
“I should’ve known they’d be here,” Hermione groaned as she slid as far into the corner as she could possibly go before becoming one with the wall.  
  
“Only weird if you make it weird, Bowie,” Willa reminded her, signaling Gregor for two pints and two shots of firewhiskey. She was sure Hermione would need the courage to get through the meal, ignoring her protests that 11 o’clock in the morning was far too early for liquor. “Shut up and drink it.” Hermione rolled her eyes and tossed back her whiskey with a frown. She was not intending on getting drunk ever again after last night’s fiasco, and that resolution was off to a rather terrible start.  
  
“So!” Willa began brightly, “I believe I was promised the juicy details?”  
  
“Really, Wills? They’re only about a thousand paces away from us.”  
  
“You can’t tell me you don’t think they’re comparing notes right now. I mean, Charlie’s looking at you like he’s thinking about it, anyway.”  
  
“Not here,” Hermione hissed, her blush rivaling that of a Weasley. She didn’t dare look in the direction of Travis and Charlie now that she had it in her head they were talking about her.  
  
“So it really _was_ awful!” Willa declared, far too loud for everyone’s taste. “No!” Hermione yelled back, matching her friend’s volume. From the face Willa made at her across the table, Charlie had definitely heard that part. Hermione made a frustrated grunt before relaxing back into her seat. “Fine. What do you want to know?” “I mean…” Willa started, her eyes still on the pair of men in the corner. All told, Hermione had excellent taste. “Was it at least better?”  
  
“I suppose that depends,” Hermione lamented, trying to ignore the fact that she was being asked to compare the two men in the corner sexually. She realized this was a conversation she was never going to have with Ginny, and maybe talking about it would help her sort out her feelings. “On…?” Willa gestured for her to continue. “Well, I don’t really have a sober evening to compare him to,” Hermione shrugged. “He wasn’t happy when I left this morning.” “Obviously,” Willa elongated, gesturing up and down Hermione’s torso. “You still haven’t explained why you did that, by the way.”  
  
Much to Hermione’s luck, their lunch appeared before she could respond. She had grown quite fond of the midday meal over her time in Romania; it was quiet and quick, but took long enough for everyone to truly enjoy their meal. It was a nice break from the noise of the day. When they were done eating, they paid their tabs and wandered into the afternoon, pointedly not checking the opposite corner to see if it was still taken.  
  
The two women also knew they had their own agendas in town for an afternoon and soon split, intent on picking up their conversation on the walk back home again. Hermione, naturally, wandered off towards the local bookstore.  
  
Solomonari’s Scrolls, at first glance, wasn’t much to write home about, but over the years, Hermione had befriended the old shop owner, Maria, and had been permitted access to the private archives. The shop itself was always in a cozy state of disarray with more books in stacks of various sizes on the floor than on the shelves, and the organization inside only truly made sense to Maria. Thankfully, Hermione’s visit today was purely academic and she found herself back in the archives, pulling out a few books on the history of the small wizarding village nestled in the mountains under the reserve. As she was not allowed to remove them from Maria’s care, she transfigured a small table into a comfortable chair and started to read.  
  
She had no idea how long she had been engrossed in the text, realizing now she shouldn’t have attempted to decipher it in her early days in Romania. Now that she was more familiar with the local characters and customs, she was quite enjoying her deep dive into the history of the area. Hermione was so interested in the tome nestled in her lap that she didn’t notice the wooden door swing open and closed, permitting her sometimes-favourite, sometimes least-favourite person, Charlie.  
  
He stood in the doorway for a few moments, watching her. He wasn’t sure if she was ignoring him at present or if she simply hadn’t noticed his entrance, so he took some time to simply admire her - her concentrated brow as she translated text, how she would wet her thumb on her lip and leave it sitting there until she was ready to turn the page - before he remembered that he had come looking for her.  
  
“Hermione,” he finally said, breaking the silence. She jumped in her chair at the sound and scrambled to catch her book before it tumbled to the ground. “Yes, Charlie, can I help you?” she ground out. She was having a particularly bad day and had been pleased to find the archives empty so she could read in peace. “I need to speak with you,” Charlie began, moving across the room so he was closer to her, but still outside of arm’s reach. Hermione sighed, but didn’t close the book in her lap. “Do you actually need to speak with me, or are you attempting to force yet another conversation I am unwilling to have?”  
  
“We need to talk about this, Hermione.” His eyes were soft as ever, but his face held a resolve that she knew he wouldn’t give up easily. “Talk about what? Me, reading quietly in a place I find calming, and you ruining the perfectly good silence provided by Maria’s archives?” Hermione frowned, made a mental note of the page she had abandoned, and snapped the book closed.  
  
“We need to talk about you running out on me this morning and refusing to tell me why.” He crossed his arms across his chest and gave her a pointed glare that reminded her oh-so-much of his mother, Molly. “I didn’t refuse to tell you why,” Hermione countered, “I gave you my reasoning and you don’t want to accept it. I hardly think that’s my fault, Charlie.” “You did not give me a proper reason, and you know it, Bows.” Hermione shrugged, but did nothing to pull herself up from her chair.  
  
“Charlie,” she sighed, rolling her head forward before sending the book in her lap back to its position on the shelf. It was clear she wasn’t going to get any more of a history lesson in the coming moments. “I told you it was a bad idea, and I told you it was a mistake. I don’t see why you can’t just take me at my word.”  
  
“Because your word is bullshit and you know it!” Charlie exploded, losing any semblance of a cool demeanor he had managed to keep. “Need I remind you that YOU asked me to take you to mine, YOU asked me to follow you upstairs, YOU started pawing --”  
  
“CALMA!” He was cut off by a Sonorous charm Maria had sent through the shop. He hadn’t realized he was yelling so loud, or that they could hear him on the other side of the door. “ _I_ started it?!” Hermione yelled back, pushing herself out of her chair so she was toe-to-toe with Charlie. “I asked you to walk me home and you dragged me to your house, instead!”  
  
“Not like we’ve never done that before!” he yelled back, refusing to back down. “You know how I feel about you and you took advantage of that.” “I took advantage? _I_ took advantage?!” Hermione shrieked, ignoring the ‘Tăcere!’ that Maria was yelling through the walls. “How dare you insinuate --”  
  
Before she could finish her sentence, the door to the archives burst open to reveal a very furious Maria, who began chastising Charlie in a rapid Romanian she could someday hope to understand. Before she knew it, they were both being dragged out of the bookshop by their collars.  
  
“Oh, nice work, Charlie,” she sneered in the bright sunlight. “It wasn’t enough that you had to spoil my morning and crash my lunch with Willa, but now you’ve gone and gotten me thrown out of the one place I actually feel at home in this country! Why can’t you just leave me alone?” She huffed at him, a furious grimace plastered across her face as she turned to stomp away.  
  
“Oh, no you don’t,” Charlie growled, reaching for her wrist before she was out of reach. “Get your hands off of me!” Hermione hollered, smacking him once, twice, three times on the forearm. They had hardly noticed the scene they were making in the middle of town, but Willa and Travis had managed to find themselves outside around the same time, waiting for their companions to head back up the mountain. They made uncomfortable eye contact with one another before nodding silently and slipping away into the safe din of the Battered Basilisk. Neither had any plans to walk back home with the storm brewing.  
  
Hermione, for the second time today, ignored everyone looking at them and began to stomp her way out of town and up the road back to the reserve. She didn’t know exactly where she was going other than “that way,” but it seemed good enough for her. “Hermione!” Charlie called, jogging to catch up with her. “Would you stop walking away from me?” “I don’t think it counts as walking away from you if you keep following,” Hermione reminded him bitterly.  
  
“So, what, you’ll talk to Willa about my dick but you won’t stop and look me in the eye?” If he was trying to stop Hermione short, that was the phrase that did it. “Excuse me?” she bit out through gritted teeth, turning all three syllables into at least six. “Oh, didn’t think I heard you back at the Battered, eh?”  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes and let out a noise of disgust and continued up the mountain road, stomping as many things as she could. “Oh, so I’m right, then?” Charlie eventually called over her shoulder. “I never said you weren’t,” Hermione ground out. She stopped walking and turned on her heel, and Charlie stopped a few steps behind her. “You really want to know?” the witch asked, furious in the way that Hermione could make her hair almost spark and her skin vibrate. “I do,” Charlie replied calmly. He didn’t dare move - he had poked the dragon now.  
  
They stood there for a moment with clenched jaws, staring at each other. “I told her it wasn’t awful, and I told her you weren’t happy when I left in the morning. With the way you won’t leave me alone this afternoon, I wish I had considered this possibility 24 hours ago.” She had said it so simply before turning back around and continuing up the final stretch.  
  
Once Charlie had his thoughts together and met her pace, she couldn’t help herself from bringing up the one thing that had been bothering her for hours: “You can’t tell me you weren’t comparing notes.” She took Charlie’s sheepish silence as a sign of affirmation before continuing, “As I suspected. So, criticising me because you think I’m talking about your anatomy with someone to make yourself feel better for actually doing that yourself? Real rich, Weasley.”  
  
“It’s not like I gave him the gory details,” Charlie said, a hash tone in his voice. He was tired of yelling at her; he wasn’t one for verbal sparring, even if he had never learned how to walk away from a fight. This wasn’t even a fight he was trying to “win” - he just wanted her to talk to him like an adult, but it was increasingly obvious she wasn’t going to do that. He sighed, frustrated. “I didn’t tell him much of anything, really, other than the fact that you started it and left in the morning. Trav asked how you handled it. As evidenced by this particular situation, I should’ve told him ‘not very well.’”  
  
“I didn’t handle it well, says the man who tracked me down in a restricted area, got us thrown out because he can’t control his temper, and followed me all the way back home? You’re like a puppy that needs to be kicked while he’s down to justify his crying and begging for scraps.” Hermione hardly knew what she was saying anymore - she really just wanted everyone to leave her alone about it. She hadn’t had time to process her own feelings yet, and she had spent the last hour being yelled at for it.  
  
“Curious of you to say - I followed you all the way back home?” He glanced up at the place where she had stopped: their angry feet had directed them all the way back to his house. “Well, yes, if you’re going to keep yelling at me, I’d rather do it somewhere Cecil and Margaret won’t walk in on us.” Charlie rolled his eyes at her and unlocked his front door, allowing her entry before him. She cast a quick Muffliato charm before turning back to him, eyes ablaze.  
  
“Look,” she began firmly, “I have already told you that I am not ready to be in a relationship with you. I have also already told you that I think too highly of you to resign you to the occasional drunken tryst. If there were to be some form of middle ground, you’ll have to stop yelling our business all over town. I do not take kindly to being approached like that in public, and I have hexed other men for far less. You’re lucky I’m incredibly fond of you or, I assure you, you’d be with Glenys right now with something far worse than Bat-Bogeys.” She crossed her arms across her chest with a huff. “Have I made myself clear?”  
  
“Not particularly,” Charlie smiled at her, pulling his weight onto a square of kitchen counter so he could watch her pace a hole through his sitting room floor. “I’ll admit, I stopped listening after ‘middle ground.’” Hermione blushed at that, thinking back over what she had said just now. She had implied she wasn’t completely against a physical relationship, hadn’t she? “Are you quite finished living in that head of yours?” he asked softly, hopping off the counter and approaching her slowly.  
  
His demeanor had changed significantly. He was back to being his calm, goofy self as he tentatively reached out to slow her feet before the friction caught his rug on fire. “I always live in my head,” Hermione whispered, still annoyed but significantly less furious. “Can I touch you?” Charlie whispered. “Yes,” she breathed, knowing herself well enough to accept that she couldn’t deny him twice in one day. He was so handsome, and generally so good to her, and the pieces of the night before that she remembered were still sending shivers down her spine.  
  
“Do you want a sober evening to compare it to?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. He smiled to himself as he watched small goosebumps appear on her skin. “Charlie…” she whispered his name with a longing he hadn’t heard before, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop once she allowed him to start. He also accepted that he wouldn’t be able to follow her if she decided to walk away. Hermione held the power in these moments, and Charlie found himself surprisingly alright with that.  
  
She turned her head just slightly towards him, allowing his lips to capture hers. This kiss was different than the other few they had shared, previously fueled by adrenaline or firewhiskey. This kiss turned into something hard and sloppy, their fury with one another coming out in a flurry of teeth and tongue. They were so caught up in one another that he didn’t even bother trying to move upstairs, opting to take her over the side of his couch. Neither lasted long, their coupling more like flash fire than a smouldering one. When they were finished, she silently adjusted her shorts and headed for the door. He didn’t know what else to do other than stand there and watch her go.  
  
“Oh, and Charlie?” she paused in the doorway, never forgetting her drive to get the last word in every conversation under the sun. “Exceeds Expectations.” She snapped the door shut behind her, leaving him standing in the middle of his living room, completely unsure of himself and whatever “middle ground” the pair had just established.  
  
\-----  
  
The week following Hermione and Charlie’s argument had been excruciatingly long. While Hermione had finished off the majority of necessary reading, she was now tasked with writing an incredibly detailed report with a thorough history of the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary and all of its inhabitants, dragon and otherwise. Everyone one else was completely knackered from one of the hatchlings learning to breathe fire a little earlier than they were ready for, resulting in a few nasty burns and semi-injured babies. In short, everyone was due for a night to blow off some steam.  
  
As Charlie and Hermione had mostly avoided each other for the last few days, Charlie decided to invite a few friends over to his house for the night with the promise of cards, cigars, and whiskey.   
  
“Ah, Char, how long has it been since we had a poker night?” Cecil asked, clasping the red-headed host on the shoulder on his way inside. “It’s been, what, three years? Four?” “Maybe for you!” Travis joked, rearranging chairs around the magically-expanded table in the kitchen. “Sounds about right,” Cecil replied, crossing the sitting room and into the kitchen to join the small group. “Same rules, though, right?” Charlie nodded in the affirmative before moving away from the door and settling into his own chair.  
  
Charlie, Travis, and Cecil were joined by Ambrose and Sorin for an impromptu night of gambling and debauchery. As Travis had phrased it, Charlie was desperate for a night away from the birds and the pub and needed a quick way to remind him that his luck hadn’t run dry. Charlie had always been excellent at cards and Travis was sure that winning a few galleons off of his best mates would perk him up for at least the weekend.  
  
Once Charlie had properly settled, he clasped and rubbed his hands together, warming them up slightly before he began to shuffle. “As Cecil has pointed out, same rules as always. You’re familiar with the house, so I doubt an explanation is necessary?” The four men around him shook their head and allowed him to continue, “ten sickles to buy-in, minimum raise is five. All clear?” A chorus of “all clear” followed. “Fantastic,” he grinned before pushing ten sickles of his own into the centre of the table and dealing out the first round.  
  
\-----   
  
With their partners at Charlie’s, this left Willa, Margaret, Hermione, and Daria to find something to do as their usual group found themselves playing cards at Charlie’s or calling it an early night. With nothing better in mind, they small group of women made their way to the firepit. They had debated going down to the pub, but everyone was feeling a bit too tired to make the walk down the mountain just to walk all the way back up in a few hours. The girls probably should have been suspicious that the firepit was up for grabs on a Friday night, but they were pleased nonetheless, even if Hermione had been right - her cooler and chair had disappeared once more and she was forced to transfigure a log into something more suitable.  
  
“It’s so quiet out tonight,” Hermione mused, wishing she had brought a book with her. It was a brilliant summer night up in the mountains; it looked like there were millions of stars in the sky and they mingled brilliantly with the pockets of light from local wizarding villages and the occasional burst of flame from nearby dragons. Hermione lost herself for a while staring at the sky, trying to locate her favourite constellations in the expansive darkness.  
  
“So, how are things with you and Charlie?” Daria asked, breaking the enchantment Hermione had been feeling as a result of the surrounding view. “Hm?” she asked, turning her head and re-focusing her attention. “You and Charlie,” Daria clarified, a little confused. “Ambrose said that Sorin said..” “Oh, Sorin doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Willa interrupted quickly. “Ignore him. He’s such a terrible gossip!” Willa rolled her eyes and looked sheepishly over to Margaret, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t say anything about Willa actually being the terrible gossip.  
  
“But I thought…” Daria began, focusing her attention more firmly on Hermione. “Didn’t you go over to his place after the bonfire the other night?” Hermione just nodded tightly. “And then you had that fight up and down the street, I thought? At least, I thought it was Charlie. He sounded angry, but I could be wrong.” Hermione heaved a long sigh. “Yes, that was Charlie. We had an argument, we resolved it, and it’s fine. Wills, how’s Sorin?”  
  
“You honestly can’t be trying to tell me that you ‘resolved things,’ Bowie,” Maggie scoffed. “Screaming your way up the mountain, letting him bend you over the couch, and not speaking for days after does NOT count as a resolution.” Hermione made a noise of offense, sneering at her roommate. “One, I told you that _in confidence_ , and two, it’s not like we’ve been avoiding each other. We just haven’t been in the same place at the same time.”  
  
“But the mess hall on Wednesday morning…” Willa began, before Maggie interrupted. “The Battered, just last night. He sat down next to you and you immediately went to the toilets for ten whole minutes.” “I was eating at the time, and I thought I got my period last night and I was unprepared,” Hermione ground out, flustered. It’s not like she was ignoring him, not really. She just didn’t have much to say to him right now.  
  
“Fine! Fine, you’re not ignoring him,” Maggie relented. “That’s definitely not what you told me two days ago, but whatever helps you sleep at night.” Hermione simply groaned and hung her head back. “Can we talk about something else? Literally anything else in the world?”  
  
\-----  
  
“Merlin, Weasley, you’ve really taken me to the cleaners,” Ambrose complained, folding his hand in the space where his stack of money should be. “Honestly,” Travis huffed, folding on his final bets, as well. “Are you sure you haven’t stacked the deck to make yourself feel better?” he joked, removing the straw hat he reserved for “boys night” and frisbeeing it across the room. “I’m out, too,” Cecil sighed, knowing from the first pick-up that he was dealt a truly awful hand.  
  
“Just you and me, then, eh?” Charlie challenged Sorin, the former not wanting to win the final round on a handful of folds _again_. He had already suspected everyone had played poorly to make himself feel marginally better about the disastrous week he’d had, but he soon realized that was probably a farce - Charlie had only talked to Cecil about what was going on, part of him not wanting to make Travis uncomfortable but a larger part of him hoping Cecil had picked up a few pieces of gossip from Hermione or Margaret around the house.  
  
“Pair of sixes,” Sorin groaned, throwing down his cards face-up. Charlie grinned and dropped his flush before gathering all of the leftover coins from the table. “Well, then,” Charlie began, not bothering to take stock of his winnings before standing up with a stretch. “You gents fancy a smoke?”  
  
“I thought you’d never ask,” Travis grinned, patting his breast pocket to ensure his cigarettes hadn’t dislodged anywhere. “Brought something special for the winner, too,” he added, fishing a joint out from the depths of his pocket. A chorus of “nice” circled the room before all five men made their way across the house and out onto the small porch.  
  
“I’ve heard things with you and Bowie have finally fallen together,” Sorin threw out conversationally as his fingers rolled tobacco in a piece of paper. Unsure how to respond, Charlie shrugged and flicked his lighter at his own cigarette and inhaled smoothly before responding with a simple “I suppose.” “Does that mean she’s officially off limits, then?” Ambrose wondered vaguely. “Always has been,”” Travis reminded him, a tinge of regret evident in his voice.  
  
“That’s, uh… that’s not how I heard it,” Cecil piped up, shuffling his weight on his feet a little awkwardly. He didn’t particularly care for this conversation and had no idea why he had felt the need to contribute, but the words fell out of his mouth before he realized he was even speaking. “Oh?” Charlie asked, displeased that this information had been kept from him until now. “Well, Mags just said you haven’t spoken since you, uh…” he trailed off; Cecil had absolutely no idea why he was still talking. “Oh. Right. Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” Charlie frowned.  
  
“So you’re not together?” Ambrose asked, confused. “No, I suppose we aren’t,” Charlie sighed. “But she’s still off limits?” Charlie chose to respond with his body language; he crossed his arms across his chest and pulled himself to his full height and fixed Ambrose with a steely gaze. “I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Ambrose sighed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Sorry I asked.” “S’alright.”  
  
The group of men lapsed into a series of separate conversations as they enjoyed their cigarettes, pausing briefly to take their turn with the joint Travis had brought along. They stayed that way for a while until a shout and laughter near the firepit caught their attention, and their conversation turned into a lively debate on if they should investigate, or continue taking up space at Charlie’s.  
  
\-----  
  
“I don’t know why you refuse to talk about it,” Maggie sighed, refusing to drop the subject now that she had Willa and Daria on her side. “We both know Weasley’s far from rubbish in the sack,” she grinned. “I knew it!” Willa hollered, bursting into a fit of giggles alongside Margaret and Daria. “Bows won’t give me _any details_ , no matter how casually I ask!”  
  
“If you’re so keen to find out, why don’t you proposition him yourself?” Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes but leaning forward conspiratorially all the same. “Well, for starters,” Willa grinned, “I don’t think Sorin would be alright with me shagging other blokes, especially a Weasley, and two, I don’t think you’d be alright with it, either.” “Charlie is free to kiss whomever he so desires,” Hermione said. “It doesn’t seem like he wants to kiss other people,” Daria commented, still playing catch up on the details; everyone knew Charlie had only taken interest in one witch since his split with Margaret three years prior.  
  
“A fact that has not gone unnoticed by me, thanks.” Hermione propped her chin in her hands, elbows resting on her knees. A dreamy look spread across her features as she thought about the few times they had kissed and the intimate details in between. “He really is an excellent kisser.” “And an even better lay!” Margaret shouted to the stars. A drunken chorus of “shhh” cut with giggles followed her admission. “Margaret Cooper, you are a married woman!” Willa chastised good-naturedly. “Not yet, I’m not! I still have another year of freedom!” Margaret reminded them with a wink.  
  
\-----  
  
“Did I just hear Mags screaming about something?” Cecil asked, holding up a hand to silence the group. “I think so,” Travis confirmed. “The girls must be having a fire. Anyone interested in crashing their little party?” “Are we sure it’s the girls?” Sorin wondered, “Willa said they were planning on heading down to the Battered tonight.” “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Let’s go see!” Ambrose said brightly, rolling out his ember between his fingers and dropping the butt into the small can Charlie kept on the porch before he stepped off, leading the way through the night.  
  
\-----  
  
“On the couch, eh?” Willa grinned. “ _Over_ the couch,” Margaret corrected, a wicked gleam in her eye. Hermione wasn’t sharing much just yet, but she seemed alright with Margaret spilling some of the juicer details on her behalf. “Oooh, that’s hot,” Daria commented lowly, leaning forward, arms propped on her legs. Hermione blushed and agreed. “It really was…breathtaking,” she giggled, the rest of the girls following her lead.   
  
“And…” Willa pushed her to continue. “And, what?” “Well, is it… you know…” Willa held her hands up parallel to one another, moving them apart slowly. “Oh, good lord, Willa. I am NOT telling you that!” “Oh, come on!” Daria whined. “He knows how to use it,” Margaret offered. “Yes,” Hermione sighed wistfully, “Yes, he certainly does.”  
  
Unbeknownst to them, there was a group of men creeping towards their circle of light, increasingly aware of their gossiping. “On the couch?” Travis whispered furiously, “Dude, what the fuck? I sat on that thing just yesterday!” “Shut it, would you?” Charlie whispered back, shoving Travis a little. “I’m trying to hear!” If he had ever needed an Extendable Ear, this was definitely the time.  
  
“Red seems like he’d be on the adventurous side. Maybe I should try to sway him away from Bowie one of these days.” “Willa, you have a boyfriend,” Hermione scolded her. “No, I don’t,” Willa countered, “I have a designated fuck buddy that occasionally stays over for breakfast.” “Occasionally?” Daria snorted, “he’s at ours practically every morning!” “Practically,” Willa pointed out, “not every.” “Well, either way,” Daria sighed, “I’d absolutely let Weasley take me--” “Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Hermione interrupted.   
  
“Charlie, I think they’re talking about you,” Ambrose whispered in the shadows. “Yeah, no shit. Shut up.”  
  
“Wait,” Daria froze. She narrowed her eyes in the direction of Charlie’s house, noticing a few shadows that were out of place. “I think there’s someone over there,” she whispered, pointing vaguely in the direction of the group of men hiding there.  
  
“Halt! Who goes there?” Margaret hollered, getting up from her chair and stomping over in the direction Daria had indicated. She grinned when she noticed the outline of her partner Cecil and pulled him close to her, greeting him with a very long, drunken kiss. “What are you boys doing hiding in the shadows?” she chastised. “Are you spying on us?”  
  
“Mags! Who is it? Is it safe?” Willa yelled, curious about the mysterious shadow people, but not curious enough to stand up and go look. If it was a wild murdering cannibal, well, Margaret would just have to be their sacrifice. “It’s a group of filthy eavesdroppers!” Margaret yelled back, tugging Cecil out of the darkness. The other four men slunk forward with Charlie lingering the longest, now at the very back of the group. Hermione’s laughter froze in her throat as she looked up and saw the redhead step into the light.  
  
“Well, hello, ladies,” Charlie said, moving deeper into the light of the fire. He had plastered on his trademark lopsided grin and was incredibly grateful he had decided to wear his favourite threadbare t-shirt this particular evening. After his poker winnings and overhearing his former and current flame singing praises to his bedroom abilities, Charlie was the most confident person in all of Romania. A chorus of flirtatiously drunk “hi, Charlie”s flitted across the circle of women. Margaret and Cecil had already disappeared into the night, no doubt sneaking back to the house they shared with Hermione for some alone time. Evidently, the trip down memory lane had ramped her up.  
  
“How’s the evening going down here?” Charlie asked, his voice full of mock innocence as he took Maggie’s vacant seat next to Hermione. “Are we interrupting anything interesting?” He was immensely proud of the brilliant blush that spread from Hermione’s ears down to her chest. “You seem a bit flushed, Bows, are you feeling alright?” Hermione nodded tightly and sat back as straight as she possibly could, trying to keep herself from gravitating towards the handsome redhead obviously toying with her.  
  
Thankfully, Willa, Sorin, and Travis were suddenly deep in conversation, with Daria and Ambrose on either side making eyes at one another. A very confident, albeit slightly stoned and pleasantly drunk Charlie took as his opportunity to strike. He leaned forward and let his lips momentarily brush her ear, his grin deepening with every spot of gooseflesh that he raised on her skin. “Still talking about my dick without me, eh?” Hermione froze for a moment, trying to decide if she was going to lean into his advances or spurn him once again. Unfortunately for her, that damn grin was doing wonders for her confidence, knowing it was directly solely at her.  
  
“Yes,” she allowed. “I believe there is a pair of women across the fire that are keen to know if you’re as adept as they believe you to be.” “Is that so?” Charlie murmured into her ear, tugging on her earlobe before trailing her jaw lightly; she allowed him to turn her chin gently towards him, the flush on her chest deepening and her breath caught just underneath. “Care to give them a taste?”  
  
Those words caused a fire to erupt inside Hermione, her immediate desire wholly evident in her eyes as her gaze slowly met Charlie’s. “Not here,” she whispered, incredibly aware they were being watched. “Are you going to follow me home?” he asked, his tone heady and deep. “Absolutely,” she breathed. Not one to pass up an opportunity, Charlie stood and pulled Hermione to her feet, squeezing her bum for good measure before leading their way through the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a companion lemon piece can be found here, if you so desire: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28529745/chapters/71541783


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> firstly, i want to give a huge thank you to manatee-vs-walrus for hitting this puppy with the big red pen! this went from something i liked a lot to something i am proud of and excited to share. second dose of love goes to the ever wonderful patriceavril for keeping me motivated and encouraging my silly ideas. thirdly, i have endless love for b.u.g. mafia for being oddly fantastic writing music (https://youtu.be/Nmz-5ZkSpzg), which is incredibly important to me.  
> i hope y'all enjoy this and i hope to see you again soon!  
> <3 CB  
> 

The sound of a distant roar woke Hermione from a deep sleep; it took her a moment to gather herself and figure out where she was, as she didn’t often wake up on top of people. She especially wasn’t in the habit of waking up on top of Charlie, though she realized that she probably should have expected this to happen...again. The hard body underneath hers was surprisingly comfortable and she had to give herself a very long pep talk before attempting to slowly roll off of him, desperate to get to the bathroom. The second she began to roll, however, the arms around her waist tightened as if Charlie was trying to pin her to him.  
  
“Charlie,” she whispered softly into his chin. Her hot breath on his throat caused him to smile softly in his sleep and ruffle his head against the pillow, but he did not release her. “Charlie, I need a wee,” she whispered again, a little more forcefully. He didn’t respond, but she felt his wrists fall slack against her sides as she pulled herself up, careful to straddle him in a way that wouldn’t force him to move when she fully removed herself from the bed.  
  
Hermione took a quick glance outside on her way to the toilet, trying to gauge the time by the amount of light outside. She estimated it to be around 5 o’clock in the morning and groaned internally; Charlie had allowed her to fall asleep on top of him hours ago and she didn’t bother to freshen up beforehand. She knew she would likely come to regret it, but accepted that she hadn’t been sleeping very well since their argument a few days prior and she was desperate for a good nap. Once she was in the bathroom, she locked the door and turned on the light, incredibly grateful that Charlie had installed a dimmer in the years prior. There was absolutely no part of her that was prepared for the full strength of a lightbulb.  
  
“Merlin, Granger,” she spoke to herself as she splashed cool water on her face, intent on a quick wash-up before she went… well, she wasn’t entirely sure where she was going. The way she saw it, she had two options: one, crawl back into bed with Charlie, knowing that he would likely want to have a conversation about the night before over coffee; or two, gather her clothes, sneak out the front door, and come up with a half-baked excuse when he was undoubtedly furious with her for leaving him. Again. Unfortunately for Hermione, she had been completely in her right mind the night before when she decided to let Charlie take her home, consequences be damned. But now the consequences were looming and she wasn’t entirely sure how damned she was willing to be.  
  
She sighed, thinking about how handsome he was, and how confident he had been, out at the firepit and otherwise. His movements, as always, were self-assured and precise, and he knew how to listen to what she was telling him without either of them needing to speak. A large part of her knew that if she got back into bed with him, she would be so tempted to wake him up just to do it all over again, and again, and again… “Granger,” she scolded herself; the thought of spending the day in bed with Charlie was enticing, but she was suddenly terrified that would send the wrong message. “Not like you haven’t already muddied the waters,” she whispered to no one in particular, if not her own reflection in the mirror.  
  
As she finished washing her hands and a quick refresh of her more sensitive areas, she mustered the courage to slowly re-emerge into the bedroom. While part of her had already decided to go home before she opened the door, the sight that greeted her was something she wasn’t willing to walk away from: Charlie had shifted onto his side, but had subconsciously left her half of the bed and a handful of pillows. The hair on the back of his head was sticking out in so many directions it almost reminded her of Harry, if there was anything in her mind that would ever potentially think of Harry as adorable. The sweetest thing she noticed, however, was the way Charlie kept reaching his arm out like he was looking for something (or someone), grasping at the empty sheet beside him, and frowning slightly in his sleep.  
  
“I suppose that decides it, then,” she thought to herself as she quietly padded across the room, her heart swelling at the sight in a way that made her more than a little uncomfortable. She paused before crawling back into bed and opted to go close the curtains, not wanting to wake up with the sunlight in her face for the second time that week. The moment her weight hit the side of the mattress, Charlie’s grasping hand met the flesh of her side and immediately pulled her down and into him, burying her face in his chest once more. Hermione wasn’t sure if she sighed contentedly, or if it was both of them, as she breathed him in and allowed sleep to claim her once more.  
  
\-----  
  
The feel of Charlie’s jaw stretching on top of her head woke Hermione once more; she cracked open her eyes at the sound of a deep, satisfied yawn and struggled to contain her own. She fought the urge to burrow into Charlie again, not entirely ready to face the day, but well-rested enough to not want to go back to sleep. “Morning, Bows,” Charlie croaked out as he placed a soft kiss to the top of her head.  
  
“Good morning, Charlie,” Hermione yawned softly, turning onto her back to stretch in the comfort of his soft sheets. She turned her head to ask the time but found him staring at her with a hunger that wasn’t in his eyes a moment before. Fortunately for Charlie, she had forgotten they had fallen asleep naked and he was intently watching her stretch her relaxed form. Hermione flushed but did not turn into him to hide herself like she would usually want to. Being here with Charlie felt safe, and she was surprised to find that she didn’t mind him ogling her one bit.  
  
“Do you have the time?” she finally asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Charlie rolled away from her to pick up his watch from his bedside table and wound it around his wrist. “Quarter past nine,” he informed her, voice still thick with sleep. “I suppose that’s not too late to start the day,” Hermione croaked, even if ‘starting the day’ was not something she was particularly interested in just yet.  
  
“Are you hungry?” Charlie asked softly, pulling himself up to sit against the headboard. His original intention was to spend the morning asleep, likely nursing the hangover he hadn’t drunk enough to receive the previous night, and therefore had no plans for his day off. “Hmm,” Hermione thought aloud, curling her knees up to her chest and snuggling back down into the bed. “I might be. I usually don’t eat breakfast until I’ve had a coffee.” “Coffee? I can do coffee,” Charlie brightened up a bit and slouched over, dropping a quick kiss on the back of her shoulder before pulling himself from bed. “Back in a jiff.”  
  
Hermione immediately took advantage of the empty bed around her. The mattress itself, she noticed, was significantly larger without the presence of a burly dragon keeper taking up his share of the space and she luxuriated in it, rolling onto her back and stretching her limbs towards all four corners. She yawned and sighed happily as the smell of brewing coffee wafted up the stairs. She had expected to regret crawling back into bed, and perhaps she would later, but for now she was perfectly content to be stretched out in Charlie’s bed, awaiting the hot coffee he was bringing her.  
  
“I know you said you weren’t hungry but --” Charlie called up the stairs as he began his own ascent. He carried a small tray laden with a large French press, two mugs, sugar, and a small pitcher of cream and levitated a slightly larger tray in front of him, “-- I decided I don’t want to get out of bed for a little while, so I made eggs and toast, too.” “Oooh,” Hermione smiled as she pulled herself from the corners of the bed and pushed herself to sit against the headboard as Charlie had only ten minutes prior.  
  
“I’ll eat eggs and toast even when I’m not hungry,” Hermione informed him happily. “Are you sure we can eat up here?” “Am I sure that I can eat the breakfast I made myself in my own bed in my own home?” Charlie joked, setting down the coffee tray on the table on his side before guiding the breakfast tray closer to Hermione. She smiled sheepishly at him as she removed both plates from the tray and watched it retreat to rest on top of the dresser. “Fair point,” she amended, setting her plate down in her lap and keeping hold of Charlie’s as he plunged the coffee grounds on his side of the bed. “How do you take it?” “Just black is fine, thank you.” Charlie nodded and poured her a cup, turning to take his plate from her hand before replacing it with a steaming cup of black coffee.  
  
“Smells delicious,” she complimented, taking a tentative sip. It was still very hot, but surprisingly sweet and tasted more like blueberries than coffee. “Tastes delicious,” she sighed into the cup, taking slow, calculated sips. “Ethiopian,” Charlie told her proudly. “The Muggle grocer down the way has a surprisingly excellent coffee selection.” “Really? Good to know.” “Really, really,” he told her brightly, settling back into his spot next to her. “Now tuck in before your eggs get cold.”  
  
Hermione smiled brightly before cutting into her perfectly fried egg. “Charlie, this is beautiful,” she said, tearing off a bit of crust to drag through the yolk that had spilled over onto her plate. “Can’t go wrong with local eggs and homemade bread!” “You make your own bread?” she inquired, slightly surprised. “Sure do,” he paused to devour half of his egg as Hermione had done, quietly pleased that she seemed impressed with his morning hospitality. “It was one of my chores when I was home from Hogwarts for hols, making sure mum always had fresh bread around.” “I had no idea! This is fantastic, Charlie.”  
  
Charlie beamed at the praise, happy to see her so content in his presence after their fiasco earlier that week. He reached for her empty plate and sent them to the tray resting across the room before settling back with his coffee. “Any exciting plans today?” Hermione thought for a moment, cocking her head to the side as she wracked her brain, trying to remember if she had anything she had to accomplish on her weekend off. “Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow, really. Just a few errands in town. You?” “Nah,” he shook his head, “already accomplished the majority of my list of things to do today.”  
  
“Your entire to-do list was to make breakfast?” she asked incredulously. “I try to not overload my weekends,” he shrugged, sipping at the last of his coffee. “I expected to spend the day with a headache, attempting to read or something.” Something about that concept made Hermione purr internally, but all he saw was her eyes brighten as she turned to him, excited. Charlie laughed at the look on her face - so excited at the prospect of spending the morning with a book in bed.  
  
“Would you like me to fetch you a book, Bowie?” “Yes, please!” she vibrated, tossing back the final dregs of her coffee like a shot of firewhiskey. Naked or not, she was always ready to read. Charlie just laughed again and pulled himself out of bed, gathering the remnants of their breakfast and following them down the stairs again. He set the dishes to wash themselves and ventured to his bookshelf, trying to pick the perfect book from his selection to bring her. “Educational or casual?” he called up the stairs. He could almost hear the gears turning in her head before she called back “casual!” Charlie nodded to himself seriously, his eyes combing the shelf. Picking a book for her suddenly seemed like the most daunting task he had ever undertaken.  
  
A few minutes of contemplation later, Charlie had the perfect idea - the book in question wasn’t actually on his regular bookshelf, but shelved with his private archives tucked away in his closet. He bounded quickly up the stairs and ignored Hermione’s questioning look from the bed and slipped inside the place where his favourite clothes and oldest books lived. “Charlie?” Hermione called from the bedroom, curious as to why he had come upstairs empty handed and run into his closet with no explanation. She fought the temptation to wander after him, remembering they were still in his home and he was entitled to his privacy. Now was not the time to let her curiosity get the best of her.  
  
“I found it!” Charlie called from the depths of his closet, undoubtedly magically expanded from how distant and muffled he sounded from the bedroom. Hermione smiled and pulled herself up higher, eager to see which book he had been so desperately searching for. When he emerged proudly cradling a book to his chest like a newborn dragon, her face broke into a grin that rivaled the sun. “ _Hogwarts: A History_?” she asked, incredibly amused. “Not just any _Hogwarts: A History_ ,” Charlie corrected. “This was Bill’s original copy, and I nicked it from him when I shipped off to Hogwarts. We’ve made an insane amount of notes in here, and I thought you’d find it interesting.”“  
  
Ooooh,” Hermione cooed, reaching out to take the old text. “But first,” Charlie challenged, holding the book out of her reach, “You’ll have to tell me where you found my old Stone Roses t-shirt, and how it found itself on your body while I was downstairs.” Hermione looked down at torso and blushed, forgetting she had gotten half-dressed. “I tried to Accio my t-shirt, but I wasn’t sure where it was, so I wasn’t entirely sure where to point my wand. This one responded, and I was chilly, so I put it on.” “I see,” Charlie nodded as he sat on the side of the bed, pulling on a pair of white linen trousers before settling in next to Hermione once more. “That one’s always been a cheeky bugger, looking for it’s next opportunity to strike. I Wanna Be Adored doesn’t cover the half of it!” he laughed, reaching over to grab his current book and reading glasses off his bedside table.  
  
“Did you get new glasses?” Hermione asked, realizing she had never seen him wear this specific pair before. They had done enough evening paperwork together in the privacy of his home that she was used to seeing him with a pair of glasses on, but she rarely mentioned it - she had asked him once, a little over a year ago, and he grumbled something about “being too young for this shit” so she had decided not to push the issue further. “Hm?” Charlie glanced up, tilting his head back slightly to look at her through the lenses perched on the tip of his nose. “I asked if you got new glasses,” Hermione clarified, “I don’t think I’ve seen you wear these ones before.” “Oh! Uh, no, not new. Well, not really. I own a few pairs. I’m excellent at losing them.” Hermione nodded in understanding, realizing that it must be very easy to lose your glasses if you didn’t need to wear them constantly like Harry or Percy.  
  
“Well, I like these ones,” she informed him, cracking open the old textbook Charlie had loaned her. She knew the book by heart by now, but she was incredibly curious what things 11 year old Bill and Charlie would find intriguing enough to scribble about in the margins - Bill’s thoughts, especially, and she strongly considered flipping to the bits about secret passages and hidden things, wondering if any of this fueled his early desire to be a curse breaker.  
  
They remained that way for hours, curled up in bed together reading quietly, perfectly content in the silence between them. Hermione would occasionally point out a few notes to Charlie, asking him to translate the messy scrawl of the two eldest Weasley boys and Charlie would occasionally read out a passage from his novel that he found particularly amusing or well-written. While Hermione typically didn’t approve of interruptions while she was engrossed in text, she had grown used to, and even learned to accept, the fact that Charlie had a strong compulsion to share the things he enjoyed with other people, and she had begun to enjoy the way he read aloud over the years.  
  
At some point, Hermione realized that she was reading less and less of her own book, while Charlie had found his stride, reading to her. Being read to wasn’t something she usually found amusing or comforting, but, in this situation, it felt completely normal. Eventually, she closed _Hogwarts: A History_ and curled into him, allowing his confident voice to lull her into a midday nap.  
  
\-----  
  
For the third time that day, Hermione slowly awoke with her face pressed into the curve of Charlie’s shoulder, the red hair on the underside of his jaw tickling her nose as she shuffled to get more comfortable. “Are you going to keep wiggling down there, witch, or must we all wake up before we’re ready?” Charlie yawned, pulling her against him and kissing the top of her head. “Your beard tickles,” she whispered back to him, softly pressing her nose into him to make her point. “You weren’t complaining yesterday,” Charlie reminded her, shuffling his chin against her. “Reckon I should shave soon?” “No,” Hermione breathed against him, scrunching up her face and adjusting her head so she was pressed against his neck, instead. “I kind of liked it.”  
  
“Oh, you did, did you?” he asked, his tone dropping as she began to breathe softly against the sensitive spot under his ear. Hermione grinned against him and nipped at his earlobe. “Are you trying to drive me mad?” he growled softly, leaning into her as she peppered his jaw with kisses. “Never on purpose,” she replied, her mouth slowly creeping up to his. That single kiss was all he needed before he was suddenly awake, flipping her quickly underneath him. “That felt perfectly on purpose to me,” he informed her in a low voice before taking her as his own.  
  
\-----  
  
The sound of a rumbling stomach roused Charlie and Hermione from the fog of their afterglow. “Typical Weasley,” she chided gently, “always thinking about food.” Charlie chuckled and swiveled his head to check the time. “Well, you’ve helped me work up quite the appetite in the last six or seven hours.” Hermione’s jaw dropped as she picked her head up from his shoulder to see the time for herself. “Merlin, has it really been that long since breakfast?” “Time flies when you’re having fun,” Charlie grinned at her, pulling himself up in bed now that his torso was free. “Care to help me cook up an early supper?”  
  
Hermione took a moment to think it over, trying to decide if she should go home and check in on Margaret or stay at Charlie’s and potentially wear out her welcome. “I think an early dinner sounds lovely,” she decided, rolling onto her side of the bed to pull on the old Stone Roses t-shirt she had accidentally stolen. “Have you seen my trousers anywhere?” she asked, briefly checking under the bed frame. “What do you need trousers for?” Charlie pouted, but got out of bed and retrieved them from the floor, anyway. “You reckon I don’t need them?”  
  
She finally climbed out of bed and realized his shirt fell to her thighs and covered almost as much as her shorts had. “Fine then, have it your way,” she shrugged before wandering off to the loo to wash up a bit before heading down to the kitchen. “Appreciate the view!” Charlie called after her before getting out of bed and pulling his white linen trousers back on and heading downstairs to gather ingredients for a supper he hadn’t really planned for; he typically went down to the Battered Basilisk for food on Saturday nights and hadn’t included dinner for two on his weekly meal plan.  
  
“What are you thinking, Charlie?” Hermione asked on her way down the stairs, fighting the urge to go pinch the bum sticking out of the refrigerator. “Stuffed peppers?” the refrigerator replied. “Sounds good to me,” she chirped, crossing the space to grab the various ingredients that were being held out to her and transferring them to the counter. “How can I help?”  
  
“Could you turn on the wireless while I sort this out? I only have the one large chopping block.” “Sure!” Hermione replied brightly; she began to fiddle with the knobs of his radio, looking for a station playing something suitable for cooking. She stumbled across a thumping beat and decided it would have to do before turning up the volume. “Nice choice,” Charlie complimented, grateful she had stopped when she heard his favorite Romanian hip hop group.  
  
“I’ll cut, you stuff?” “Works for me!” Hermione agreed, grateful that Charlie generally insisted on doing household tasks such as cooking and cleaning the Muggle way. It was a bit unusual for a wizard of his skill, but Hermione wasn’t surprised; Charlie was a man that liked to do things by hand, and often remarked that he felt a deeper sense of accomplishment, doing things himself as opposed to relying on his magic to do it for him. The pair set to work quickly, moving around one another with the ease of two people that had been sharing a kitchen space for years.  
  
Hermione enjoyed watching Charlie work in his kitchen; he was as fast and sure with his knife as he was with almost everything, and he exuded a joy she hadn’t seen before as he worked, bobbing his head and rapping along to the radio, comfortable and confident in his Romanian as he was in his English. She hardly realized she was obviously staring at him until he turned to hand her a spoon and empty bell pepper, a slight smirk paired with a quirked eyebrow. “Can I help you?” he teased, winking as she gulped and took the tools he was offering her.   
  
“Sometimes I forget that you’re fluent in Romanian,” Hermione eventually commented as she started to spoon the contents of the mixing bowl into the hollow pepper. Something about this must have shocked Charlie, because his response was a loud, booming laugh. “I’ve only lived here for over a decade, Bows, why wouldn’t I speak the language?” “Well, I suppose that’s a valid point. I feel completely silly sometimes, having been here for a year and a half, and all I’ve managed is ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and maybe a handful of other phrases.  
  
“Would you like to learn?” Charlie asked, perking up at the prospect of teaching the infamous Hermione Granger. “Someday, perhaps,” she sighed, placing the second stuffed pepper on a baking sheet. “It feels strange to begin now, knowing I’m heading back to England in a few months.” Charlie frowned slightly at this, but took the opportunity to hide his disappointment by taking the tray and transferring it to the oven, checking his watch, and setting a timer. “Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.” “I’ll keep that in mind!” Hermione beamed at him. “Thanks, Charlie.”  
  
“Are you sure you don’t want to start now?” he asked, checking his watch. “We’ve got at least 45 minutes to kill.” “Hmm,” she considered, picking at a thread on the bottom hem of the old t-shirt she wore. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm in learning how to order from Gregor, aye?” Charlie grinned and made his way over to the couch, settling in. Thankfully, Hermione was a quick learner and caught on faster than he had anticipated, at least with spoken word. The written word might be a separate beast, but they could tackle that one together when they had more time. Sooner than they wished, the timer had gone off and Charlie got up to pull their dinner out of the oven, setting it on the counter for a few minutes to cool.  
  
“Wine?” Charlie offered, pulling two glasses out of a corner cupboard before waiting for a response. “ _Da, te rog_!” Hermione grinned, grateful she had learned that one early on. “ _Buna treaba_!” Charlie praised her, incredibly proud of his new student as he poured two heavy glasses of wine, sending one over to the table as he readied their plates for dinner. “ _Miroase delicios_ ,” Hermione attempted slowly, pleased at the thumbs up and a quick “ _da, buna treaba_ '' from Charlie before they both tucked into their hot meal, picking up their conversation on Romanian grammar rules and how they differed from their native English.  
  
“So much for not wanting to learn Romanian,” Charlie complimented as he sent their plates towards the sink, feeling like a stuffed pepper himself and having no interest in washing up the Muggle way. “I reckon you’ve learned more in the last hour and a half than I did in the first six months I was here.” “It helps that I’ve had an excellent and patient teacher,” Hermione reminded him, stretching in her chair as their meal settled. “I don’t know if ‘excellent’ is the right word, but I’ll take it. Thanks, Bows.”  
  
Hermione beamed at him again, pleased with their progress that evening, but disappointed in herself for putting off these lessons for so long. She and Charlie had spent plenty of evenings sitting together at that very table, working and chatting, and she felt foolish for never asking him for assistance. Instead, she had been making notes of phrases that needed to be translated and taking them down to Maria at Solomonari’s Scrolls or catching Cecil before bed. “Have there been any instances where you’ve gotten lost in translation and things have gone sour?” she asked, thinking about some of the darker aspects of Romanian humour she was still figuring out.  
  
“Oh, definitely,” Charlie nodded before launching into a story about his early days in Romania, when he was still learning the language. “-- so we’re heading back up from the Battered, I’m drunk off my arse and could hardly follow why Sorin was trying to convince me one of the Horntails really loves it when you wash their spikes, right? Travis eventually told me Sorin was carrying me with the rug, and I spent years thinking he was trying to kill me!” Charlie laughed loudly, fondly remembering the tumultuous start to his friendship with the native keeper. “So he was taking the piss and you spent all of that time hating him, thinking he wanted you dead?” Hermione chuckled, making a mental note to brush up on the local turns of phrase before giving anyone the wrong impression.  
  
“Though I suppose it’s not very funny, trying to convince someone to do something so dangerous,” Hermione eventually commented once Charlie’s laughter quieted down. “Well, no, not really,” Charlie amended, “but it’s also my job to be smarter than that. I should’ve known he was joking immediately, but Sorin can be… very convincing sometimes, especially when he’s wearing his poker face.” “I can see that,” she agreed, thinking over some of her past interactions with the Romanian.  
  
“More wine?” Charlie offered, standing up and moving away from the table and back to the counter where he had poured two glasses in the middle of their lesson. “Please,” she replied, following him into the kitchen to offer her empty glass. “Would you like to take this outside? There’s a nice view of the sunset from my porch in..” he glanced down to check his watch, “two or three hours?” “I’d like that,” Hermione perked up; it had been ages since she had spent the entire day indoors, and spending the evening in a rocking chair outside with a bottle of wine felt like a fine way to pass the time. “I will need trousers for that, however.” Charlie nodded as Hermione set off up the stairs to pull on her shorts.   
  
When she came back downstairs, she was still wearing his t-shirt, though she had rolled up the sleeves to cap her shoulders and knotted the bottom so it looked like it was purposefully oversized. “I’m never getting that shirt back, am I?” Charlie chuckled. “Not likely,” she chirped before retrieving her recently filled wine glass and leading the way out front.   
  
Hermione sighed happily as she sank into her preferred rocker, smiling as the sunlight and gentle breeze kissed her face. She closed her eyes and sipped her wine peacefully, rocking slowly and enjoying the simplicity of the moment. Charlie watched her from the corner of his eye, a smile playing at his lips; he wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, sitting there on his porch in his t-shirt, but he was nervous that any compliments on her physical appearance outside of the bedroom might make her uncomfortable, so he kept it to himself. He was content sitting there in companionable silence, rocking lazily, alternating between watching Hermione enjoy the comforts of his space and his dragons playing off in the distance.   
  
“I love it here,” Hermione finally spoke, breaking their silence. She had opened her eyes and found the same scene she imagined kept Charlie here, day after day, injury after injury. The Carpathian Mountains were truly stunning, and the dragons on the horizon only made it even more breathtaking. “Couldn’t live anywhere else,” Charlie replied eventually, his eyes following one of his favourite dragons across the sky, a Vipertooth called Lucia. She was one of the first dragons Charlie had watched hatch and he had spent the majority of his first two years on the reserve working closely with her. Hermione noticed that Charlie’s attention was elsewhere and followed his gaze towards the sky.  
  
“Is that Lucia?” she asked, wondering if she would always feel so awe-struck every time she saw a dragon off in the distance. “Yes,” Charlie replied immediately, the pride evident in his voice. “She’s beautiful,” Hermione admired as the Vipertooth circled the mountain that contained her enclosure. “She certainly is,” he breathed, his attention back on the woman next to him. Hermione tore her eyes away from the beast in the distance and blushed as she realized Charlie was looking at, and likely speaking about, her. They held each other’s gaze for a few moments, lost in thoughts of the other, the landscape, and the beautiful things they got to witness every day of their lives.  
  
Charlie was starting to wonder if he should lean over and kiss her before she opened her mouth to say something, and promptly closed it again. “Yeah?” Charlie inquired, tilting his head slightly and encouraging her to speak. “I just...” she stalled, unsure how to say what she was thinking. “I wanted to thank you, I suppose, for bringing me out here.”  
  
Charlie smiled at her again. “I didn’t bring you out here, that was all Luke.” “I didn’t agree because Luke requested me,” Hermione confessed, “I agreed because you asked me.” “Well then,” Charlie grinned, hoping to Merlin the tips of his ears weren’t pink and belying the self-confidence he was trying to present, as opposed to showing how deeply touched he was by her admission, “I’m happy he sent me home.”  
  
“I don’t want to go home,” Hermione admitted, her tongue loosened by wine and the comfortable domesticity of the day. After everything she had put him through this week, Hermione felt she owed him at least a shred of emotional vulnerability. “You don’t want to go back to England?” Charlie questioned, a little surprised at the gravity of her admission. “Not particularly,” she sighed, eyes trained on the skies again. While Charlie was usually very easy to talk to, she found it easier to have this particular conversation if she didn’t have to look him in the eye.  
  
“It’s just so beautiful here, and I feel like I’ve built a nice life, far nicer than I think I would have if I had stayed cooped up in an office in London.” She sighed again and began to pull her thick hair into an elastic on top of her head. “Everyone back home feels so settled in their lives, partnered up and happy in their careers; I always felt like I was a bit adrift, or falling behind, concentrating on where and how I was supposed to be, as opposed to where and how I.” She paused, searching the summer sky as if it held the answers she was searching for. “I feel free here,” she whispered as the realization dawned on her.  
  
“I completely understand,” Charlie told her softly, extending a rough hand to take her own, lacing their fingers together loosely. It was the most comforting and consoling gesture he could think of, holding hands between their chairs, their rocking finding a syncopated rhythm as they lapsed into another silence, though this one was heavier than before. He didn’t want to push her to keep talking, though he could sense her nervousness at the prospect of her future away from Romania. He didn’t want her to leave, either, but this wasn’t about him - it was about her, and her happiness, and wherever she wanted to take her life and the many opportunities she would undoubtedly have, regardless of where she lived.   
  
“Thank you, Charlie,” Hermione said, squeezing his fingers lightly. “I haven’t done anything,” he told her honestly. “You’ve done far more than you know,” she smiled up at the sky as Lucia swooped low, searching for food. “You brought me here.” “You bought yourself here, Bowie,” Charlie gently reminded her, squeezing her hand back. “I never thought I’d agree to a nickname,” Hermione said dreamily, sipping her wine with her free hand. “You don’t like your nickname?” Charlie asked, surprised that she had allowed people to call her something other than her given name for the last year; he also knew she would die with a small group of people in Romania calling her nothing but Bowie, Bows for short, or Bowtruckle Granger for long.  
  
“I didn’t think I would, but I actually really love it. I hate it when people shorten my name, because I quite like my actual name, but Bowie Granger feels like…” she paused, trying to figure out how to phrase the feeling in her heart. “Bowie Granger isn’t an orphaned war heroine, or seen as some super genius sidekick plastered all over the Prophet, or the obvious choice to replace Kingsley Shacklebolt. Bowie is just Bowie.” She shrugged, unsure if she was explaining herself properly. “I like just being part of the team.” “Well, that’s good,” Charlie told her simply, “I like Bowie and her group of friends.”  
  
“I wonder how long I can keep being Bowie,” she mused, turning her attention back to Charlie as most of the dragons began their descent for their evening feeding. “As long as you want to be, I reckon. I’m sure Luke wouldn’t hesitate to transfer you to something permanent when we hear back from the MacFustys.” Hermione considered this possibility, intrigued at the idea. “I might be able to convince him to form some type of oversight committee if I manage to get us the pair,” she grinned, thinking up any possible excuse she could to stick around for at least a few more years. “I’m sure he would be happy to consider anything you throw his way,” Charlie reminded her.  
  
“I’ll think about it,” she nodded, squeezing his hand again before pulling her hand away to grab her empty wine glass, passing it to Charlie. “Could you refill me?” “Your wish is my command,” he replied as his trademark lopsided grin spread across his features. He turned and grabbed the bottle of wine he had brought along and filled her glass once more before topping off his own.   
  
“You said earlier you’ve got errands in town tomorrow?” Charlie asked, scooting his chair a bit closer to hers. He wasn’t sure if she’d allow him to hold her hand again, but he wanted to be prepared with a better angle, just in case. She seemed to read his mind in that moment and grabbed the arm of his chair and silently encouraged him to move even closer, so their arms were almost touching. She laid her forearm across the armrest, palm up, and invited his hand to find hers once more; she shifted in her seat so she was able to prop her head on his shoulder comfortably, her wine glass nestled against her chest. “Yes, but can we wait until tomorrow to think about it?” Charlie smiled again and nodded, placing a quick kiss on the closest part of her.  
  
She sighed again, but this was a sigh that came from her guts. She was so content sitting there with Charlie, conversation flowing easily, but the silence was also comforting. His large, calloused hand dwarfed hers, but they seemed to fit together perfectly, like two pieces to a puzzle she hadn’t realized they were working on. She went through the last 24 hours in her brain, and then the events of the last week. She hadn’t lied when she told Charlie she wasn’t ready for a relationship with him, but there was an even bigger part of her screaming that it would be stupid to walk away now. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so comfortable and respected, if ever.  
  
“Why do you think our date went so poorly?” Hermione finally asked as the colours of the mountains began to change, the sun finally beginning to set behind them. Charlie stiffened for a moment before running his hand through the hair he had shaved off on that generally confusing day. “Haven’t been able to figure it out, honestly,” he admitted. “Too much pressure?”  
  
“I suppose you’re right,” she agreed, thinking it over. “If it’s alright with you, I’d much prefer we consider today our first date.” Charlie grinned and brought her hand up to his mouth, placing a soft kiss on each finger. “I would like that very much,” he told her as he brought their hands back down to their respective armrests. “Just don’t tell my mum we shagged first.” “I wouldn’t dream of it.”  
  
\-----  
  
Charlie awoke slowly, slightly surprised but incredibly happy to find Hermione curled up in his arms once more. The pair had finished a bottle of wine before staying up a bit too late, so the man wanted to take his sweet time turning on his brain. He decided to take a moment to truly appreciate the bird in his bed. There was something about Sunday morning that made him want to roll over and go right back to sleep, regardless of the time or how hungry he was. He hoped she would be alright with this approach.  
  
The witch curled up in his arms had found a permanent nesting place under his chin the last few days, but he didn’t mind. His legs were bent at odd angles and he wasn’t sure where the bulk of his arms were, but Hermione curled around him in a way that made it oddly comfortable. A slow sigh escaped his chest, thick with good sleep, and he tightened his hold around the woman in his grasp. He allowed his head to sink into the pillows and closed his eyes, more than happy to lay like this for as long as possible.  
  
The pressure of a pointed chin and the soft woosh of a yawn against his collarbone roused him from his Sunday doze. He cracked an eye open to find Hermione shuffling slightly, slowly waking up herself. “G’mornin, Bows,” he croaked, slightly dazed as the fog of leftover sleep greeted him. “Hullo,” she mumbled, smushing her face harder into his freckled skin and away from the sunlight peeking through the curtains. “I’m not ready to be awake yet.” “Me, either,” Charlie replied slowly, burying his own face in the wild mane on his chest. “Mmmkay,” Hermione mumbled through another yawn before shifting her weight so she was directly on top of him, snuggling her face as far away from the light as she could. She was strategically using Charlie’s head and neck as a very effective sun block.  
  
Charlie chuckled to himself softly and peppered a few kisses along the parts of her face he could reach without moving too much. Hermione fully on top of him, going in and out of sleep, was like having the most beautiful and tempting blanket he could imagine. “You’ll have to wake up if you insist on laying on me like that,” he muttered into her hair, lifting her hips gently so he could readjust his own. Hermione purred against him, reminded of how easily he could move and shift her, and placed a few lazy kisses to the hollow of his neck. “I thought you weren’t ready to be awake yet,” Charlie growled into her hair, unsure if he was about to spend the next few hours increasingly flustered.  
  
“I can think of a few reasons to wake up,” she whispered, slowly expanding the range of her sleepy morning kisses until she found his mouth with her own. “Is this my wake up call, then?” he replied, sliding his rough hands down her sides to grab at the underside of her bum. “Are you complaining?” she teased, searching for the spot under his ear that drove him wild. Charlie’s breath hitched in his throat before he could force out an “I would never,” laying back and letting Hermione take charge of the situation, guiding them into their Sunday, soft and slow.  
  
“I could get used to this,” Hermione yawned as Charlie carried a tray of coffee upstairs for the second morning in a row. “You only get exceptional treatment on weekends,” Charlie remarked, full of cheek as he bent over to kiss her quickly before handing over her mug. “And what about on, say, Tuesdays?” she asked, blowing at the steam coming off of her drink before taking a sip. “Tuesdays, I’m up and out with the sun, so you’ll have to make your own coffee, I’m afraid.”  
  
He moved back to his side of the bed and pulled at his pillows, stacking a few behind him before he settled against the headboard, careful to not spill on his duvet. “I suppose I should head home soon,” Hermione sighed, wholly uninterested in spending the day without Charlie, though she was loath to admit it aloud. “You’ve got errands today, yeah?” Charlie asked; they had opted to not discuss Sunday afternoon plans the night before, speaking of other, more personal matters, instead.  
  
“Yes, I’ll need a shower and clean clothes, and then I need to head into town for a few things. It’s my turn to go grocery shopping,” she groaned, hating the fact that Margaret always Cecil to help her carry everything back home while Hermione had to remember to bring along the charmed cart so she didn’t have to haul everything up by herself. “Would you like help?” Charlie offered, sensing her reluctance to head off alone. “That would be fantastic!” Hermione beamed at him, taking to her coffee with a renewed vigor towards the day.  
  
“We can shower here and you can steal another t-shirt, if you want to,” he added on, mostly interested in seeing her in his clothes again, but partially curious which shirt she would pick as her own, if given the option. “You do have very comfortable clothes…” she said, weighing her options. “Yes, I think I like this plan,” Hermione finally smiled at him. Charlie grinned in the lopsided way that made his dimples pop and eyes sparkle and, Merlin, did Hermione love putting that look on his face.   
  
“I’ll go start the shower for you,” Charlie kissed her quickly and pushed himself out of bed before wandering off to get the rest of their morning sorted. He emerged a few minutes later, a trail of steam following him out the door. “There are fresh towels on the counter for you when you’re ready. Give me a shout when you’re through so I can wash up, yeah?” “You’re not coming?” she pouted, setting her empty mug on the side table before rolling off the foot of the bed. “I’m not sure we’ll both fit in there, Bowie,” Charlie laughed, but turned around, anyway. “We’ll never know unless we try,” Hermione told him brightly, hot on his heels.  
  
The shower was a tight squeeze, but Charlie was already getting used to finding Hermione’s hair in his mouth or hidden in other, far more uncomfortable places, and they somehow managed to make it work between the two of them. Charlie left her alone to give her some privacy while she did whatever her post-shower routine was, assuming she had some elaborate hair care routine he did not need to be privy to, and opted to towel off and get dressed in his bedroom.  
  
“Oh, I was going to wear that,” Hermione joked when she finally emerged, her hair knotted in a series of complicated braids to keep it off her face and neck. Charlie glanced down at his plain white t-shirt and torn denims and shrugged. “I said you could wear my clothes, not steal my style,” he replied with a wink, moving to sit at the foot of the bed to pull on his socks and boots. “Well, fine, then,” she huffed playfully, digging through his wardrobe in an attempt to find something suitable to wear into town that didn’t scream ‘I haven’t been home in two days!’ She settled on a plain green t-shirt that she hoped wasn’t obviously Charlie’s and decided to give it the same knot-and-roll treatment as yesterday’s Stone Roses acquisition.  
  
“Ready?” Charlie asked a little while later, hovering by the front door. “As I’ll ever be,” Hermione replied as she finished lacing up her trainers. Charlie had gathered his shopping bags from the pantry and slung them over his shoulder, still unsure of Hermione’s to-do list beyond grocery shopping. If they were lucky, he supposed they’d have time for a pint or two at the Battered, but he held his tongue on the off chance she was vehemently against alcohol round noon on a Sunday. Instead, he smiled at her and opened his front door, stepping into the bright light of late morning.  
  
The trek across the sanctuary was their usual, stopping occasionally to say good morning or play weekend catch-up with friends on their way to the gates. Once they were actually moving down the mountain and towards town, they resumed their Romanian lessons from the night before, Hermione hoping to use some of her new vocabulary while they completed her shopping.  
  
Charlie was pleased to learn that Hermione was a methodical grocery shopper; her list was organized by aisle, and then subsequent alphabetical order, and their trip felt like a breeze - until they hit the dairy cooler. “Bows, this literally just says ‘cheese’ and then a bunch of letters after it?” He pointed at the series of letters in question - B, C, and S. “Block, crumble, and sliced,” Hermione told him, pointing at each individual letter. “That’s not a D?” Charlie asked, confused but following her distinction. “Did you think I wanted dragon cheese or something?” she laughed, inspecting the day’s selection. “Merlin, I hope not,” Charlie replied quickly, his face souring.  
  
“Wait, is that an actual… thing?” Hermione stopped laughing and whipped her head to look at him. Based on the look on his face, she assumed it was, indeed, a thing, and not something she should be eating. “Oh, it is very much a thing,” he told her seriously. “Absolutely disgusting. Never eat it.” “I wasn’t really planning on it, but…” she paused and cursed her curiosity for getting the better of her, “...how do they get the milk?” Charlie’s face darkened, less sour than before, but no less horrified. “It’s a dangerous process that no one should try unsupervised, but that doesn’t stop people. I don’t even understand how or why it’s legal outside a controlled environment.”  
  
His last sentence seemed to trigger something in her. “Is it inhumane? Does it hurt the mother? If it’s harmful in any way, I’m sure I can find loopholes in legislation to --” Charlie laid a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her down. “It’s an old tradition, it’s relatively uncommon, and it tastes terrible, so it’s fairly difficult to track down. It’s alright, Bowie.” She screwed up her mouth for a moment, not wanting to drop the subject, but knowing she should trust Charlie’s judgement. “Well, as long as you’re sure…” “Sure as my hair is red,” he consoled her, picking up the shopping basket once more.   
  
Hermione stepped closer and glanced between the basket and her list. “Oh, bugger,” she sighed, “I’ve forgotten to grab a loaf of sourdough.” “Don’t bother,” Charlie waved her off. “But --” she began, knowing full well she could hardly make sandwiches without sliced bread. “My starter’s ready. I’ll get you a few loaves tomorrow, yeah?” Hermione grinned at him and kissed him quickly on the cheek. “Thanks, Char!” “Anytime. Stop wasting your money on bread when you’ve got a Charlie down the way, alright?” He squeezed her arm gently before smiling half a grin and heading off towards the till.  
  
“Anywhere else?” Charlie asked on their way back to the main square. One of his arms was laden with shopping bags, but he didn’t mind the weight of them. “I’d like to stop in to make sure Maria isn’t still furious with me, but perhaps I should do that alone?” Charlie nodded in understanding and handed her one of the empty bags stuffed into his arms. “In case you need it. I’ll be at the Battered when you’re ready to head back.” Hermione smiled at him as she grabbed the proffered bag, heading off to Solomonari’s Scrolls. She had some questions that Charlie didn’t want to seem to answer in public, and she hoped the local bookshop might have more information to fuel her desire for knowledge.  
  
Charlie shrugged off towards the pub, placing a quick cooling charm on the more perishable items in their recent acquisitions. Hermione seemed to have a thing against charming food and had become very protective over it after the war. Charlie never felt it was his place to pry, but he knew from the snippets he had gathered from her and his brother, Ron, that food had been incredibly scarce for them that year and he never wanted her to feel shamed for any habits formed out of PTSD. However, he had seen her place warming charms on leftovers previously and felt that doing the opposite would be perfectly alright.  
  
He wandered into the pub, quickly glancing at the corner table favored by his colleagues, and was pleased to find Willa, Sorin, and Travis tucking into lunch. “Hullo, all,” Charlie called brightly, taking care to not run his grocery bags into any chairs between the door and the corner. “Hey, Char,” they all greeted quietly, saluting him with their cups. “How’s your date — I mean, how’s your day?” Willa grinned, winking from behind her pint. “Having a lovely Sunday, thanks,” he replied quickly before signaling Gregor for a beer of his own. “No complaints, that’s for sure.”  
  
The three colleagues nodded, slightly suspicious that he had largely ignored the “date” question without technically rebutting it. “D’you at least know where Bowie is? I haven’t seen her since Friday.” Willa asked, eyeing Charlie up and down. It seems the absence of Charlie and Hermione for the usual Saturday night drinks hadn’t gone unnoticed. “She’s over at Solomonari’s,” he shrugged, sipping at the cold beer that had appeared in front of him. “Said she wanted to check in with Maria after last week’s fiasco.” The group nodded once more, but were unwilling to question him further as they nursed their collective hangover. Maria didn’t generally let people back inside after throwing them out, but the bookshop matron and Hermione seemed to share a bond unlike any of the regular staff at the Sanctuary.  
  
“Speak of the dragon,” Sorin piped up as the front door opened and admitted another stream of early afternoon sunlight, quickly blocked off by Hermione’s silhouette. “How’d it go?” Charlie asked her as she angrily stuffed her empty bag into one of the various parcels on the floor next to Charlie. “We’re both banned for at least three more weeks,” she grumbled, thinking of the private archives she couldn’t touch again until at least July. “Shit,” Charlie spat, finally regretting his actions the week prior. As of right now, he had gotten what he wanted, but at great sacrifice to Hermione, and he felt like a bit of a prat. “I’m so sorry, Bows.” “It’s alright,” she sighed, grabbing for his beer and stealing a few sips. “I’ll just have to find another way to get the information I need.”  
  
“You could always just Accio the book you want!” Willa reminded her, never one to err on the caution in terms of rules and regulations. “She’d be banned for life if she tried that,” Sorin commented, “Maria takes that sort of thing very seriously. Says it’s blatant theft, even if you return it.” Hermione frowned and nodded, understanding more than anyone how protective the old woman was over her stock. “It’s fine, really. Three weeks won’t kill me, will it?” The look on her face begged to differ, but the group admired her ability to accept her punishment. “Char, she said you’ll have to send Travis for anything until we’re allowed back inside.” Travis groaned; he was generally terrified of Maria, and that was the main reason Charlie was always the one to handle her. Charlie was charming enough that old Romanian women typically fawned over him. The red hair and dragon scars certainly helped, especially with Maria.  
  
“Well, that’s enough bad news for one day, I reckon,” Charlie sighed, grabbing the end of his pint from Hermione and tossing it back. “Six loaves of sourdough aren’t going to shape themselves.” “Well, technically…” Sorin started, but stopped when he earned himself a pointed look from Willa. “Fair enough,” Charlie amended as he pulled out some coins from his back pocket and left more than enough on the table for Gregor. “Either way, best be getting these groceries home before they spoil.” “There’s a spell for that, too,” Sorin attempted, unaware of Hermione’s aversion to tampering with food. “We Muggle-borns have a funny way of doing things, eh, Wills?” Hermione remarked as she helped Charlie gather their things.  
  
“Oh, Bowie, what are you up to later?” Willa asked before Charlie and Hermione turned to leave. “Oh, erm,” she stuttered, quickly locking eyes with Charlie. They hadn’t decided on doing anything together after this, but neither had really considered separating yet. “No plans, I suppose. Is everything alright?” “Oh, everything’s great!” Willa grinned wolfishly. “I just thought you might like to come ‘round to mine later. It looks like your laundry machine’s shit the bed.” Hermione scowled at her close friend and swallowed a retort about washing up just fine at Charlie’s but opted to stick her tongue out, instead. “Right then!” Charlie grinned, quite pleased that everyone had gone for cheap jokes as opposed to pointed questions. “Shall we?” He gestured towards the door with his head, arms full once more. “We shall. I’ll get the door.”   
  
With that, Hermione waved goodbye to their friends and held the door for Charlie, intent on getting out of Willa’s earshot as soon as possible. “She’s going to tell everyone about this,” she sighed, unsure if she actually cared. “Or ask a million questions I’m not sure you should answer without express approval from the object of your affections,” Charlie retorted, highly amused at her predicament. The boys were sure to ask him questions off and on tomorrow, but they had learned to read Charlie’s facial expressions before he could pretend to come up with a half-true response. He already knew the response from most would be something along the lines of “Finally!” but he also wanted to remain cognizant of Hermione’s comfort levels. One weekend-long date did not make her his girlfriend, and he was well aware that she’d hex him to China and back if he claimed otherwise.  
  
“Think we can head them off?” Hermione asked eventually. “Not likely,” Charlie replied, managing to fake a sullen tone. “I should probably change and head over to her house in a few then, eh? She’s likely to appear at yours and peek in the windows now that she’s seen me in your t-shirt.” The younger witch rolled her eyes and continued through the gates, adjusting her autopilot to the house she shared with Maggie as opposed to Charlie’s, where she truly wanted to be spending her time. “Oh, I don’t think it’ll be so bad,” Charlie shrugged behind her. “She’ll probably just want a detailed account of the last 36 or so hours of your life.”   
  
“Ah, yes. A play by play of my weekend! Just how I wanted to spend my Sunday evening,” Hermione joked as they got closer to her home. “What? You don’t want to tell your friends that you spent your weekend with a dashing redhead who cooked you plenty of delicious food and shagged you silly at least a handful of times?” Charlie winked at her, shouldering open the front door.   
  
“So that’s where you’ve been all weekend?” Margaret called from the sofa, curled up with a half-awake Cecil. “Told you she was off fucking Weasley,” Cecil croaked. “You owe me five galleons. Now shut up, would you? I’m trying to sleep.”  
  
“Then sleep on your own sofa.” Hermione rolled her eyes, setting down her bags on the counter. “I’ve just gone shopping and I haven’t had lunch yet. I expect to be making noise for at least twenty minutes.” “Oh, go make noise at Charlie’s,” Cecil groaned, burying his face into the cushions. “No, she’s right,” Margaret told her fiancé softly. “If you’re going to have a kip over here, you should at least head upstairs, love. I’ll join you shortly.” Cecil sighed and rolled himself off of the sofa and trudged up the stairs, two at a time.  
  
“What’s got his goat?” Charlie asked, pulling things out of various bags and handing them over to Hermione as she put everything away by hand. “I’ve asked him a few times, but he just keeps saying Firecracker,” Margaret shrugged.  
  
“We must’ve missed quite the night down at the pub,” Hermione remarked, with the faintest tinge of regret. Charlie just shrugged and continued putting away groceries, setting aside the things he had purchased for himself back in their respective bags. “I wouldn’t know,” Margaret yawned, “I was on shift last night. I swear, all you keepers do is wrestle dragons and drink.” “Hey, now!” Charlie corrected with mock offense. “Sometimes we gamble.” “Oh, like that’s a better use of your time?” the mediwitch rolled her eyes and pulled herself upright, intent on following Cecil upstairs for some more sleep.   
  
“Right then,” she yawned again, “I’ll be awake in a few hours. We’ve got plans with Willa around 6 o’clock, by the way,” Margaret called down on her way to her bedroom. “I should’ve known she’d do that,” Hermione whined slightly, hanging her head back. “Fine. But I’m not making dinner!” she called up after her roommate. “Then starve!” Maggie called back before kicking her bedroom door shut.  
  
The afternoon passed quickly at Hermione’s house. The pair found themselves reading quietly in the sitting room, curled up so Charlie could read over her shoulder and answer any questions regarding the poor handwriting on the field notes she was skimming again. “It’s 5 o’clock already, Bows,” Charlie informed her, shuffling her slightly so he could peel himself off the sofa. “I should get back to mine before Willa comes sniffing around.”   
  
Hermione sighed and nodded, appreciating his caution. She followed him through the kitchen and pulled his bag of groceries from her refrigerator, reminding him silently to take them home. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, leaning down to kiss her softly. “Count on it,” she smiled at him and kissed him again quickly. “Back to the old routine, then?” Charlie asked, hoping the last few days meant they would revert to their year-long habit of dinner and evening paperwork. Hermione nodded and kissed him a few more times before giving his bum a quick squeeze, half pushing him out her front door before they wound up properly snogging in her kitchen.  
  
“Don’t you two look cozy,” Margaret yawned on her way down the stairs. Hermione blushed and chose to not respond, turning to the cupboards and pulling out the ingredients for chicken and rice. She knew Maggie and Willa would complain if she tried to beg off her turn to make dinner, so she set to work quickly, hoping everything would be mostly ready by the time Willa appeared. The only distraction from the task at hand was making tea for Maggie, still sitting nearby and yawning every few moments.  
  
“So you’re not going to talk to me about it?” Maggie asked between sips of her tea. “Not much point without Willa here,” Hermione shrugged, “I’m just going to wind up answering the same questions twice, and you’re only half listening to me right now, anyway.” “Hm?” Maggie asked, looking up from her cup, eyes still a little bleary. “Exactly. Now get woken up properly so we can eat when Willa gets here. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.” Margaret nodded and finished off her tea, wandering back upstairs to change her clothes and rouse Cecil. It wouldn’t be a proper girl’s night with him asleep upstairs and Maggie wanted Hermione to speak openly without fear of him overhearing and relaying anything back to the boys.  
  
“Right then,” Hermione muttered to herself as she finished assembling their dinner and popped it into the oven. She poured two fingers of firewhiskey and sat down at the table, building herself up to finally share openly with her best friends while their dinner baked. She had allowed Maggie to take the hit last time, spilling their shared secrets through the haze of alcohol and firelight. Her weekend thus far had been idyllic and she was surprised to find she was already counting down the days to Charlie’s next free afternoon, making herself a bit more than nervous with the ideas popping up in her head. Could she be missing him already? He had only been gone for half an hour and, Merlin, it was nice having him around.  
  
“Anybody home?” Willa called, knocking softly on the front door before swinging it open and peeking inside. The sound roused Hermione from her reverie and she glanced towards the door, expecting the early imposition. “Come on in, Willa,” Hermione called over her shoulder. “Supper’s almost ready. We can eat as soon as Margaret gets her arse back down here!” She called the last part up the stairs unabashedly, not wanting to overcook their supper and risk the chicken drying out while Margaret and Cecil dallied upstairs.  
  
“We’re coming, we’re coming,” Margaret called down the stairs over Cecil’s shoulder, her voice much perkier than it had been just twenty minutes earlier. “Oh, there’s food?” Willa grinned, allowing herself a heavy pour of the bottle Hermione had left out. “Not for another 40 minutes or so, actually,” Hermione replied, “I just wanted Mags to get her shit together.” She revelled in her own cunning as Maragret shot her a look before kissing Cecil on his way out the door.  
  
“Does this mean you’re finally ready to talk?” Margaret asked, settling in with her own, albeit smaller, portion of Ogden’s Finest. “Like you two would give me any other choice,” Hermione teased, sipping at her whiskey tumbler slowly. The bright smile Willa gave the table made the witch look like Father Christmas had come six months early and she was practically vibrating with excitement.  
  
“Did you fuck? Was it good? Was it sweet? Is he a snuggler? Did he call you by your given name? Did you fool around on the couch again? Merlin, that would be so hot. Does he --” “Willa!” Hermione cut her off, overwhelmed. “One question at a time, please.” Willa nodded seriously and made a motion like she was zipping her mouth shut and handing Hermione the key. The three women sat in silence for a few moments, Hermione trying to decide which question she would attempt to answer first.  
  
“He said ‘at least a handful’ earlier, did he not?” Maggie piped up finally, trying to throw Hermione a bone while also getting Willa the information she was dying to know. Hermione sat there for a moment and counted slowly on her fingers, thinking back on the weekend. “I think so?” she finally agreed, unsure if a few rounds in the same span of time counted as multiple. “Merlin,” Willa breathed, eyes bright. “You went over there Friday night and came home just today?” Hermione nodded, confirming the timeline. “So, five plus times between 10 o’clock Friday night and noon today?” Hermione blushed as she nodded.  
  
“Weasley!” Willa breathed, impressed with his fortitude. “Never knew he had it in him.” “Me, either,” Margaret sighed, impressed and a bit jealous. “Really?” Hermione asked, a little shocked. She knew Charlie and Margaret had dated for a spell, but still felt comfortable discussing the finer points of the Weasley man with her - Hermione hadn’t been around when they were together and had only known Margaret to be attached to Cecil, so it never occurred to her that perhaps she should be bothered by the information. With the way people on the reserve tended to pair off to blow off steam in their preferred ways, she was honestly surprised Charlie hadn’t slept with more of the available women. Margaret just shrugged and sipped at her whiskey, glancing behind her at the oven timer so their dinner didn’t overcook. “We just went at it a few times a week,” she clarified, “mostly on the weekends when I was stuck working nights and he would swing by after the pub on his way home…” she trailed off.  
  
“I knew he’d be adventurous in the sack,” Willa mused. Almost everyone was aware that Willa had harbored a not-so-secret crush on Charlie for at least a year, but nobody really talked about it. Most everyone knew Charlie only had eyes for Hermione from the moment she stepped foot in Romania. “Haven’t gotten that far. Is this really all you two care about?” she laughed, thinking back on the other, more important parts of their weekend  
  
“Pretty much,” Margaret grinned, “I reckon you had a lovely, very domestic weekend otherwise.” Hermione smiled and nodded. “Essentially, yes. What you’d expect from a man like Charlie on a weekend-long date, I suppose. Breakfast in bed, reading me to sleep, an evening on the porch…” she trailed off, lost in recent memories. “He brought you breakfast in bed?” Willa swooned. “He read you to sleep?” Margaret asked at the same time. “Well, yeah,” Hermione said slowly, unsure why her friends were so shocked to hear about the softer side of Charlie Weasley.  
  
“Charlie never read to me,” Margaret said, a little sad. “Really?” Hermione asked her, surprised. “Charlie reads to me all the time. Always has.” “I can honestly say I’ve never seen him read a book,” Willa commented, siding with Margaret. “Well, that’s likely because he doesn’t like it when people see him in his glasses,” Hermione mused. “Charlie wears glasses?!” Both women stopped her. “Is… is this news?” Hermione asked, momentarily confused. It was becoming clear to her that not many people saw him comfortable in his home the way she, Cecil, and Travis had over the years.  
  
“Merlin, Bows,” Margaret whistled, “I think Weasley’s far more bonkers for you than I expected.” Hermione bit her lip and looked off toward the kitchen, lost in thought. “I don’t know if I’d say ‘bonkers’ necessarily…” she trailed off as Willa snorted. “Even if you’re smitten, that kind of activity takes at least a week.” “I don’t think ‘smitten’ is the right word, Wills,” Hermione argued. “Oh, he absolutely is,” Margaret cut her off. “He brought me breakfast in bed exactly once, and it was the morning after an, erm...scare, and we split not long after.”  
  
Hermione swallowed thickly at that, not realizing Charlie had been going above and beyond the last few days. He had made everything seem so effortless, like he was happy to do it, and she hadn’t thought twice about any of it. He had never struck her as the romantic type, but their personal ideas of romance lined up perfectly - coffee and books in bed, waking up from an afternoon nap to a languid shag, a bottle of wine at sunset… Merlin, was Hermione absolutely bonkers for Charlie, too? She was broken from her reverie once more as the oven timer dinged. All three women rose to pull the chicken and rice out of the oven before Margaret flagged them down, taking the hit - she was closest to the kitchen, after all, and Hermione was obviously having an epiphany.  
  
“So you’re seeing him tomorrow, yeah?” Willa asked, eyeing the food Margaret had set on the counter. “Dinner, as usual,” Hermione sighed happily, glad to be back to their regular routine; she realized, just now, that the normal routine would likely include more snogging and less paperwork, but she was looking forward to it all the same.  
  
“You miss him,” Margaret observed from her vantage point in the kitchen, dishing up three plates and grabbing the bottle of firewhiskey before returning to the table for supper. “I do,” Hermione admitted, hesitating before preparing a forkful of food. “Well, maybe I won’t keep you, then,” Willa offered, tearing into her hot food like a person that hadn’t seen a properly cooked chicken in years. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to return his shirt before I adopt it?” Hermione grinned at her friends, tucking into her first meal at home in two days.  
  
“Yeah,” Willa nodded. “You should definitely return any and all stolen property as soon as possible. Keeper’s honour, and all that.” The three women smiled at each other fondly, appreciating the bond that had formed over the years, before getting lost in thoughts of the men they considered their own. “I suppose I could return it tomorrow,” Hermione sighed, not wanting to come across as immediately clingy. “That’s a good point,” Margaret mused. “You should probably sort out your priorities before popping over unannounced.”   
  
Hermione nodded and screwed up her face slightly, unsure where to begin. Three days ago, she was completely avoiding any relationship beyond friendship, but now he was all she could think about. “This is terrifying,” she finally said aloud. “I’ve eaten worse, Bows, it’s alright,” Willa consoled her. “No! Not the food. Charlie,” Hermione clarified. “Yeah, he tends to have that effect on women,” Margaret said. Hermione laughed but nevertheless rolled her eyes. “What if I’m not ready?” she asked her friends softly. “I think that’s a conversation you need to have with Charlie, love,” Margaret replied, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze. “In the meantime - we have a wedding to plan!” The small group immediately perked up and shoveled down the last of their dinner, happily swapping ideas until bedtime.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a massive, disgusting amount of thanks, as usual, to patriceavil for her constant encouragement. a second massive, disgusting amount of thank to bexsilverthorne for the world building, charlie love, and naming our new friend. scaleys 4lyfe. third shout-out to pearl jam for simply existing.  
> this is a big one for our charlie-boy, and i hope y'all enjoy!  
> see you soon.

Hermione awoke slowly, finally finding herself in her own bed. She was alone for the first time in days, and she was immediately aware that she did not care for it. The bed she had once found incredibly comfortable now felt far too big and far too empty for her liking. Her blankets were too heavy and her pillows were far too firm, and she found herself cursing Charlie Weasley first thing in the morning.  
  
“Well, good morning to you, too,” Margaret smiled as a sullen-faced Hermione emerged from her bedroom and shoved her way into the bathroom. Hermione settled on a groggy wave before washing up and making her way down to the kitchen, intent on making a very strong cup of coffee.

“It won’t be as good as Charlie’s,” she muttered to herself as she prepared her preferred morning beverage - coffee usually came first, and then breakfast, and then two or three mugs of tea to get her prepared for the afternoon. Knowing she had dinner plans with Charlie perked her up a bit, but she also needed to figure out how to find and maintain her focus between now and then. The hours that stretched in between felt like they might be too much to handle, but she had made it through worse. Much worse.  
  
“What’s got your wand in a knot?” Margaret asked as she plopped down at the table.  
  
“Oh, nothing,” Hermione replied. “I just have a feeling it’s going to be a very long day.” She sighed once more and plunged down on her French press, sending two cups to the table with a flick of her wand with her other hand.  
  
“Can’t wait to see Weasley, eh?” Margaret smiled knowingly, reaching for her preferred mug.  
  
Before she could grasp it, a piercing alarm made its way through their section of the reserve. Hermione took a moment to steady herself, pour their coffees, and usher Margaret out their front door to find out what the commotion was about.  
  
“Code Copper, one-five. Code Copper, one-five. Code Copper..” an amplified voice repeated.  
  
Hermione paled when she realized what the disembodied voice was saying - one of the dragons, a Vipertooth, had gone rogue and flown out of the protective barrier and the keepers responsible were expected to drop everything, grab their “oh shit” bag and follow. A rogue Vipertooth meant, most notably, Charlie and Travis would be gone as long as they needed to be, likely however long it took their dragon to get bored and decide to head home. It definitely meant they would be cancelling tonight’s dinner.  
  
Before Hermione could get too lost in worry, the redhead that took over the majority of her non-academic thoughts appeared in a frenzy.  
  
“Bows, I’m so sorry..” Charlie began, his knapsack and broomstick in one hand as he shoved in a few bottles of water and provisions for the trip. “It’s Lucinda. She refused a mate last night and I guess he annoyed her enough about it…” he trailed off, digging through his pack once more.  
  
“It’s alright, Charlie,” Hermione said, hoping the worry she was feeling didn’t show on her face. If she had gotten fairly decent at anything over the years, it was hiding her fear in the face of an imminent threat. “Be safe, alright?”  
  
Charlie froze for a moment before looking up and studying her. He held her gaze before shrugging his knapsack onto his back and adjusting his grip on his broom. Before either even considered their audience, he hopped onto the small porch and kissed her with all of the emotion he could muster, a mixture of desire, fear, adrenaline, and something else Hermione couldn’t quite place.  
  
“It’ll write when I can, okay?” he whispered as he rested his forehead on hers, slightly breathless. Charlie wasn’t used to stopping and thinking about anyone else before an emergency situation; he merely grabbed his things and left without a trace. “My house is open if you want to check in on my plants and feed my starter.”  
  
“You won’t be gone that long, will you?” Hermione asked, her voice coming out more of a childish squeak than that of a fully-grown woman.  
  
“Dunno, Bows,” he sighed against her, kissing her once more. Hermione leaned into his touch and allowed herself a moment of silence before the screech of the alarm roused them apart.  
  
“I’ve got to grab Travis and get going before we lose her,” Charlie whispered. He was very unimpressed with Lucinda’s timing; it was like she knew he was on the brink of something big in his personal life and she felt threatened. Charlie was just grateful she hadn’t somehow talked Lucia into following her, as that would mean they had an even bigger mess on their hands - something that went from a hopefully short reconnaissance mission would turn into a full fledged team of keepers, nursing staff, and a Quidditch team to boot.  
  
“I’ll see you soon,” Hermione told him with a tone of finality.  
  
“As soon as I can,” Charlie promised, kissing her once more before rushing off to locate his brother in arms before taking to the sky, chasing after their favorite girl.

Hermione and Magaret sighed as they sank into their respective chairs on the porch, watching the usual hustle and bustle of the morning pass by in front of them, with the added stress of a rogue dragon. The entire reserve was under immense pressure any time one of their charge took flight beyond the protective enchantments; not only were they down at least two pairs of keepers for the foreseeable future, but there was no telling what kind of reinforcements would be required, and how long they would be gone.  
  
“I suppose you should ready your go pack, just in case,” Hermione said after a few minutes of watching the world go by, sipping her coffee.

“I suppose you’re right,” Margaret agreed into her cup; it wasn’t often a mediwitch was summoned for a recovery mission, but it was in her job description and their sector of the reserve would likely be in shambles if Glenys decided to take the call. “It’s my day off, too,” Margaret frowned.

“I know, love,” Hermione said. She was disappointed in her intuition - she knew it would be a long day at work, waiting to see Charlie, but now she had no idea how long it would actually be until she would see him again in the flesh. At least she had permission to stop by his house while he was away, and she fully intended to make sure none of the living specimens inside his home died in his absence.

“He’s quite particular about his sourdough starter, you know,” Margaret finally said after finishing her coffee. Hermione merely nodded, hoping against hope he wouldn’t be gone long enough for her to have to worry about anything he left behind other than herself.

However long he would be gone, she immediately knew, would be far too long.

\-----

_Dearest Bowie,  
_

_How are things back home? I’m sorry to say that we are further out than I ever anticipated. I wish Bill were still living in Egypt because, if he were, that might have been the last opportunity for a decent shower and proper change of clothes for a while. Tomo reckons we went due south and Lucinda got confused somewhere in Chad, but I honestly can’t be sure. Travis manned the broom overnight so I could get some sleep and I woke up surrounded by the sand dunes.  
_

_Have you ever had the opportunity to speak to Bill about the weather in Egypt? I don’t know if it’s hotter here, but I have to imagine it is. We’ve all slashed the legs off of the denim we brought along, which made sense at the time, but has been difficult when you’re the one keeping the broom steady. Windstorms are no joke, and I always forget about them.  
_

_We’re all hoping the desert and the lack of resources will send Lucinda back home soon enough. If we go much further away, we’re going to have to call for reinforcements, as we’ve already gone well beyond the legal boundary. Thankfully, we’re mostly moving at night so there aren’t many Muggles to worry about, but I’m worried she might face heat exhaustion before we do.  
_

_Lucinda has found a few dogs for dinner, which sounds awful, but she managed to pluck them out of seemingly nowhere and charred them before they realized what was going on. We’re all incredibly proud of her, fending for herself out here, but it seemed to embolden her and her drive to somehow get back to Peru. I’ve never flown over the ocean before. It sounds like fun in theory, but it also sounds incredibly tiring and I’m not sure how Travis and I could trade off control without fully supporting each other after about a day or two. I’m ready for a nap just thinking about it. Are you?  
_

_Sometimes I wish I had Sirius’ motorbike with the sidecar for long journeys like this. It would attract more attention, I’m sure, but I like to think I’d be able to sleep a bit better. Did Hagrid or my dad tell you that I helped with the dragonfire bit? I’m sure you knew as soon as you heard about it, clever as you are. Harry wrote me not long ago to ask if I could fix it next time I’m at the Burrow.  
_

_It felt like nothing at the time, but I forgot how long these tracking missions can be sometimes. It’s only been a few days, but a few days from home sometimes feels like a hundred years if you have something to look forward to.  
_

_Speaking of things to look forward to, I haven’t forgotten that I still owe you a properly cooked supper. I know you can fend for yourself, but something tells me Cecil hasn’t taken over baking bread for everyone in my absence. I hope your lunch hasn’t suffered.  
_

_I wish I would write more, but it looks like Lucinda is making eyes on the sky again. I’ll be sending this off from the next village we cross, so I can’t guarantee it will be timely, but I hope it brings you comfort and that you miss me as much as I am missing being home and the conversations we are yet to have.  
_

_I_ _have attached field notes from myself, Travis, Tomo, and Patrick to the back for your perusal, as well as an official copy for Luke. I hope you’ll have time to pass them off, and find them as fascinating as we do.  
_

_I miss you. I’ll write as soon as I can.  
_

_Always,  
Charlie_

\-----

Hermione sighed and tucked Charlie’s letter into the back pocket of her denim shorts. He had been gone for almost four days and this was the first anyone had heard from the team - Charlie, Travis, Tomo, and Patrick. Of course Charlie had decided to write her a letter along with the field notes Luke was asking for two days ago. She typically didn’t mind visiting the head of the reserve in his office for official business, but delivering mail made her feel incredibly anxious with a dash of uncomfortable.

“Reckon they’re alright, then, if Weasley managed to fill a page of parchment for his lady love.” Luke observed after Hermione removed the small notes attached to the letter in her pocket.

“I suppose so, sir,” she replied lamely as she enlarged the field notes to their proper size and handed them over, trying and failing to hide the obvious blush across her cheeks. “They were somewhere in Chad when he sent it. I’ve got no idea where they are now.”

Luke merely nodded and turned in his chair, removing a globe from the corner of the room to the middle of his desk. He muttered an incantation that caused small red dots to appear all over, mostly centered in their location in Romania, but a few stray dots around the world popped up, signalling the trackers on the dragons under his watch and exactly where they were throughout the world. He nodded to himself as he noted the bright red spot nestled along the equator in Africa, slowly making its way east. “About 10,000 kliks south, not accounting for the sea. We could catch up in two to three days.”

“Is it not necessary to send someone after them?” Hermione asked, her voice thick with concern. She was particularly curious as to why Lucinda would be heading east, as opposed to west, until Luke pointed out a small dragon sanctuary just inside the border of Uganda.

“It looks like they might find help before our help can find them,” Luke said, spinning the globe slightly to show Hermione a faint outline. “Though I will need to send a translator and a mediwitch, at the very least. Do you think Nurse Cooper is up to the task? I’m sure she’d be happy to carry your return letter. It’s just about the only way to guarantee he’ll ever see it.” Hermione nodded, her head spinning.

“Granger, when you’ve got a moment, could you find Nurse Cooper and send her to my office? I’ll need to speak with her as soon as possible.”

\-----

_Hi, Bows.  
_

_I’m sorry it has taken me so long to reply to your letter. Lucinda has been making fascinating progress out here and we’ve all been pulling 12 hour shifts to make sure everything has been fully documented, but more on that later. Would you be upset if I told you that I was so happy to see Marge hand over a piece of parchment with your handwriting on it that I could have kissed her? We settled on a hug that would make my mum proud, but I think that’s the first time she’s let me touch her in years.  
_

_Now, to answer a few of your questions:  
_

_One: No, you do not need to repot any of my plants. They’re not overcrowded and sad. They sort of grow that way, but I do appreciate your attempt at drawing what the leaves are doing. The walking plant will tell you when it’s ready to move into something else.  
_

_Two: I cannot promise I’ll be able to bring home coffee beans, but I’ll ask around if and when we run into anyone from the Ugandan reserve. We’ve been surviving on cold tea and it’s not nearly as enjoyable when you’re surrounded by filthy men, literally and figuratively. (Major props to Marge for being able to stomach us all on her own.)  
_

_Three: You’re right - I probably am sunburnt under all of these freckles. Can you believe I’m going to come home with more? I didn’t think it was possible. You might have to count them all when I get back, just to be sure I’m not going crazy.  
_

_Four: Yes, it’s perfectly alright for you to stay at my house while I’m gone. Are you keeping a keen eye on Lucia for me from the porch? I’m nervous she’s getting lonely without her sister, and something tells me we might be seeing her sooner rather than later. If it’s not too much trouble, could you try to send along a few drawings or photos if Luke sends a third wave? I’d love to see her. I miss her terribly.  
_

_In work related news, Lucinda took down a gorilla yesterday. We didn’t think she’d want to spend as much time in the rainforest as she has, but she seems incredibly happy in the shade with all of these new and different foods to pick from. The way she snuck up on it was one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen, and I was there when she hatched! Travis owes me at least five galleons because he thought she’d try for an elephant, but she seems to like her food on the hairier side out here. It sounds gross, but I often wonder if it makes a difference while she’s eating, or if they’re easier to burn when they have more hair to catch fire. I’ll have to experiment a bit whenever we get out of here.  
_

_I think we’re slowly getting closer to the reserve because we hear sounds at night that don’t add up to the natural animal life out here. Patrick suspects it’s a breed we don’t care for back home, so we’re requesting that Luke send Mathilde or Fabian down to conduct a more thorough investigation. Wouldn’t it be great if we followed Lucinda all the way down here to come back with a new breed? I know we’re already expanding for the Hebridean Blacks, but two new batches to the reserve could make for some fascinating cross-breed attempts in the future! That would definitely give you more reason to stick around in Romania, yeah? Just thinking about the possibility has me excited to come back.  
_

_There is a small village not far from here that seems very nice. After some persuasion from Max, they agreed to let us use their birds to get information back home. I hope they send this with one of the colourful ones so you can enjoy a little bit of Africa while we’re all away. It probably sounds crazy, but I’m having the time of my life sharing a tent with Travis on the side of a cliff, though I maintain it would be better if you were here. I always forget he’s a bit of a snuggler and his hair doesn’t smell as nice as yours.  
_

_Speaking of, I appreciate you wearing a few of my t-shirts before sending them down with Marge. They will probably be disgusting when I’m done with them (dirt and sweat, I swear), but it’s nice to know you’re thinking of me at home while I’m working down here, thinking of you, too.  
_

_Unfortunately, I’m almost out of daylight and it’s my turn to take over watch. I hope you’re working hard and Willa isn’t driving you too batty with half of our group gone. Tell her I said hello and that she’s my favourite menace. Speak soon, I hope.  
_

_xx,  
Char_

\----

_Bows,  
_

_Would you believe me if I told you I was the first person to actually lay eyes on an unknown breed of dragon? As I noted previously, we heard him only at night, and it turns out he’s nocturnal. Travis insists he would’ve seen him first if we swapped day and night shifts, but he’s awful at staying awake on the night shift, so it always falls to me. Joke’s on him - Charles Weasley will forever be in the history books. I can’t wait to tell Hagrid! I wasn’t expecting to tell my mum about this trip, but I reckon now she’ll know about it before I get home. I swear I’ll skip every Christmas for the next five years if she sends a Howler.  
_

_I haven’t been able to get any good photographs and drawings of our new friend yet, because it’s always dark out and I don’t want to spook him, but he’s this beautiful brown colour that blends with the tree trunks on the forest floor and seems to shimmer when he’s closer to dirt than leaves, so I suspect he’s got some chameleon-like aspects similar to the Opaleye, but that quite literally remains to be seen..  
_

_To give a brief overview, he’s longer than I thought, and seems to be semi-serpentine, akin to some type of wyvern. Based on the screeching I’ve heard in the_ _distance, I can only assume his diet consists mostly of birds that he’s snatched from nests. What I find the most queer is that I have yet to see him breathe any kind of fire or smoke, and Travis keeps joking that he actually breathes sand. While this might turn out to be true, we now regularly joke that he and Lucinda could probably team up and start glassblowing. Could be quite lucrative, aye?  
_

_Now that I’ve actually seen this new breed and Lucinda seems to be laying low in the area, I sent Patrick and Tomo to the local reserve proper to see if they have any more information. Thus far, it seems what we’ve found out here is the stuff of local legend and they’re as flabbergasted as we are. It is my understanding that Luke is coming down personally to work with the reserve here as we sort out plans to either capture him, or build an outpost to study him thoroughly before trying to bring him anywhere. This is a bit preemptive, but I’m hoping we can get cleared to try to move him back to Romania if we’re able to catch him. I think that would give me naming rights, wouldn’t it? That would be wicked.  
_

_I know I’ve said it before, but I can’t believe you’re not here with me, making history. I hope you can see this thing someday; he is absolutely massive! I can’t believe no one has seen him before now. He reminds me a bit of a basilisk or cockatrice in some ways, but maybe that’s the taste for birds talking. I’m not sure. Either way, I’ve included more detail in my field notes for you, as well as a few copies for you to file and to pass around to anyone who asks. Sorin is going to be so mad he’s not here for this! In my opinion, this definitely puts me above him for a promotion, don’t you think?  
_

_As it looks like I’ll be here for another few weeks, I’m doing my best to bring you a new dragon for your birthday. Or, at the very least, bring you a sunburnt boyfriend for your birthday. I’d like to think I’m the more attractive option, but I won’t be offended if you pass me off for a research opportunity. Ever the bookworm - which isn’t a bad thing; it’s something I’ve always admired about you.  
_

_Speaking of, would you mind sending Luke with a few pairs of glasses for me? Turns out I’m very good at losing them in foliage and I’m curious if they’ll help me get a better look at our new friend since my night vision is a bit shoddy in my old age. Ha! (Really, though, please send some glasses? I’d appreciate it.) To thank you for the trouble, I’ve (illegally? I’m not sure) sent some flowers for you. I hope they smell alright by the time they reach you, but they could be terrible. Let me know.  
_

_How are things going back at home? I hope everything is alright with the amount of people that keep coming down this way. Margaret says hello and she hopes you’re not too bored without us. I think you can fend for yourself, but crazier things seem to keep happening these days. I hope I can see you soon. I think this would be much more fun if I got to sleep next to you as opposed to Travis, but I’m surviving somehow.  
_

_Missing you still,  
Charlie_

\-----

_Hermione! Holy shit!  
_

_Guess what? I get naming rights! Even if he stays here in Uganda, I am still being credited with the discovery. I’ve always wanted to see my name in an updated version of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and my dream will be coming true someday. I can’t believe it. Who knew this is how it would wind up when Lucinda took off? I never thought this would actually happen. I’m tempted to contact the Scamanders to get someone down here, but I don’t want my excitement to cloud my judgement or to affect the gravity of our work. I’m really looking forward to celebrating with you soon.  
_

_Luke and Fabian are finally here, as I’m sure you already know. Luke told me he left Cecil in charge, which is excellent news. Something tells me Sorin is as angry as a Horntail in heat. Luke’s allowed me to take charge of the situation here as he shows me the ropes, coordinating between the reserve back home and the Ugandans. They have agreed that we can bring him home to Romania if he’s willing to cooperate, but we have to transfer a few keepers in trade. I know Travis is considering it, but we’ll see what happens when the time comes. Part of me wants to stay behind if our new friend doesn’t come along, but he seems to have developed a tolerance for Lucinda, and I have the feeling he will follow her wherever she goes from here. Let’s hope I’m right.  
_

_I’ve asked Luke if you could come down with the next wave to document everything that’s happening because I think it will really bolster our chances with the MacFusty’s if they have your account while we orchestrate this exchange. This is at least the second time someone from Romania has discovered a new breed, so it feels right that you be here to write everything down from an analytical perspective. Is that something you’re interested in? Luke thought it was a decent idea when I floated it by him, but I think he thinks I have ulterior motives. While he is partially correct, it doesn’t feel right doing this without our official historian present.  
_

_The reserve here in Uganda is fairly similar to where we live, but there seems to be less emphasis on drinking after shifts and they seem a bit more studious._ _I’m surprised Travis wants to stay behind, because I think he might die without a pub in walking distance, but he seems pretty taken with the change of scenery. He loves it whenever we disappear like this, if only to get out of Romania for a bit. I don’t know why he’d want to trade Europe for Africa, but he’s allowed his opinions, even if they don’t make sense to me. I’m also just being selfish - it’s hard work breaking in a new partner, but we’ll see who else decides to transfer and maybe I’ll get lucky in the lottery.  
_

_I wish I had more time to write this, because I have so many questions about what’s going on back home and how you’re handling this influx of information while you’re in the final stages of your project. I hope you’re keeping it together and helping yourself to as many t-shirts as you need (though I wouldn’t be opposed to you sending a few more - maybe a few photos? Is that asking too much? Six weeks away from you after a perfect weekend seems like one of life’s cruel jokes. I can’t say any of the things in my head because I’m nervous these might get intercepted or saved for future documentation, but I hope you’re having fun in my bed without me).  
_

_Merlin, have I mentioned that I miss you? I’m constantly finding sand in places where it shouldn’t be, and I’ve found myself wishing they were strands of curly brown hair, instead. I know we keep saying it, but “soon.” I will kiss you soon even if my life depends on it, I promise. It’s weird how I’m out here having my dreams come true, but it seems to pale in comparison to my imagination. I think it’s because it would be better if you were here to share the joy of the discovery. Again - soon. Soon, soon, soon.  
_

_xx(x?),  
Char_

\-----

_Ma mie,  
_

_Luke tells me you’re not coming, but he said it in the same way he says things like “we’re not having a bonfire tonight” before he appears with a case of beer and a crate of firewhiskey. Please tell me he’s lying to get me to wrap shit up here so we can all head home?  
_

_I don’t think I’ve ever been more desperate to do paperwork and get back to Romania in my life, and that includes the summer of funerals. I’m exhausted, I miss my bed, I miss my lady, I miss my dragons, and I miss Gregor. Yes, even Gregor.  
_

_They tell me we’ve been gone for at least 8 weeks now, which I guess means it’s somehow mid-August. I don’t know where the time has gone, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t stopped counting somewhere around the third pair of ruined trousers.  
_

_I’ve decided on a name -- Gonza. They say it means “love,” which is what I think brought me here in the first place. Lucinda seems quite taken with him, and their mating dances have been fascinating to watch. I think the plan is to bait her back home with Lucia to see if he follows. Travis was right in that he does, indeed, breathe sand. I’ve dubbed him a Ugandan Sandskull.  
_

_We’re geared up to set off for home in a few days, but we’re waiting on a final group of reinforcements for the flight. I’m not sure if you’ll be joining them, as I know you hate to fly, but a little birdie told me you’ve been taking lessons while I’m away. Even if you just make it down here with someone else, I promise I’ll fly us back home to safety. What I wouldn’t give to have your arms around me on my broomstick… Do you know what I mean? Probably not, but a man can dream.  
_

_Good fucking Merlin, I’m ready to be home. I’m set to miss your birthday at this rate, and how disappointing would it be to spend it all alone while everyone else is having an adventure without you? Not to rub it in, because this adventure has gone on longer than I’d like, but it comes with as many highs as it does lows. I’m just ready to be home.  
_

_Desperately yours,  
Char_

\-----

Nine weeks from the first letter tucked into Hermione’s trusty beaded bag, she found her sharing a broom with Willa, flying south over the Mediterranean Sea and the Sahara Desert. It wasn’t necessarily how she had planned on spending her weekend, but the promise of a new dragon breed to study was calling all of them. Those left behind weren’t happy about it, but understood the importance of seniority and preferred teams. Some keepers quietly wished their Horntail had left on a rampage, instead, so they would have the opportunity to visit Africa, as well.

Some of the team had managed a Portkey to Uganda, but a small, second group was needed to transport any supplies they’d need to transfer at least two dragons back to Romania, and it was easier to buckle down for a three day flight. After two months with Daria and Willa, Hermione was ready for a few weeks away in a different country. A large part of her was excited to prove to Charlie that she had taken her flying lessons seriously and was comfortable and confident enough on a broom to make the journey.

She had almost lost her nerve somewhere over Sudan, their speed suffering as the fatigue from the desert heat took its toll, but Willa’s encouragement and the promise of a handsome redhead on the other side strengthened her resolve every time she felt it slipping. While she had done far more death-defying acts in her lifetime, this felt like the most terrifying and exciting thing she had ever done. The world of dragons was changing and expanding, and Hermione would get to write Charlie’s name on every dotted line.

“Hold!” someone called from the front of their line. Hermione pulled up on the handle of her broomstick and roused Willa - three days of excruciating travel later, and they were finally about to cross into the territory of the Ugandan Dragon Sanctuary. It had been two and a half months of pining and worry, and she was about to be reunited with Charlie again. Meeting Gonza the Ugandan Sandskull seemed almost boring to her in those moments.

The Romanian team almost buzzed with the gravity of their mission, slowly sliding off of their brooms as a pair of very strong, dark-skinned men shimmered into view from the other side of the protective enchantments surrounding the reserve, checking the credentials of everyone in their party before allowing them access, walking them through the barrier, one-by-one. A sense of warmth filled Hermione as it was her turn to cross, and the feeling never left when she made it to the other side.

She spotted him immediately - her Charlie. He was tucked off to the side, surrounded by the friends and co-workers he hadn’t seen in months, animatedly telling anyone who would listen about his new discovery and the general plans for the transfer of the Sandskull back to Romania. She smiled to herself, watching him, and her grin threatened to split her face in half as she watched Travis elbow Charlie softly in the ribs before whispering in his ear and pointing in her direction.

Charlie froze and whipped his head around, frantically searching through the crowd of people that was forming around the borderline. Before she could consider moving to his corner of the group, he had pushed his way through the sea of people and gathered her into the most wonderful hug she had ever received. Charlie was murmuring so many sweet nothings into the air, her ears, her hair, her forehead that she couldn’t keep his words straight, so she settled on pressing her lips to whatever part of him she could reach. His words had morphed from “oh, thank Merlin,” to “I can’t believe it,” and she was pretty sure a few of these ramblings were punctuated with a rogue “holy shit.”

“Charlie,” she laughed into him after a few moments of his frenzied assault, “Char, look at me, please.” He placed a final kiss to her temple before pulling back and composing himself. His eyes were a little red and puffy, like he hadn’t been sleeping or had recently been crying, but the apples of his cheeks shone slightly as he smiled at her.

“Love, are you crying?” Hermione asked softly, reaching out to touch the corner of his eye softly. His smile didn’t falter as he nodded; she had never felt more loved in her life than in those moments. “Do you want to show me your new friend?” Charlie didn’t even reply verbally, but he grabbed her hand and dragged her away from the group of people, immediately switching gears and talking her ear off about everything they had discovered in the few weeks they had managed to keep Gonza under observation.

“We might not be able to see him right now because he blends into the ground…” Charlie trailed off, pointing into the distance. He frowned slightly, scanning the ground for his new discovery, half expecting the Sandskull to be in the general area where he left him not an hour before.

“I reckon he’s gone underground.” Hermione said after a long silence. She pointed towards a hole not too far from where Charlie indicated. “Could explain why he spits sand as opposed to fire.” Charlie screwed up his mouth for a moment, thinking over her suggestion, before nodding in agreement.

“I think you’re right. It could also explain why no one has seen him before now, if he’s been living among the roots of the trees, as opposed to with them on the surface.” He squeezed her hand tightly before pulling out a small notebook and jotting this down for further investigation, either in Uganda or Romania. If the Sandskull was partial to burrowing, they would have to do more rearranging than they anticipated before moving him to his new habitat. The next few months were set to be incredibly long, but everyone at every reserve in the world was up for the task. If Charlie was incredibly lucky, he might have his pick of magizoologists throughout the world to help research, document, and care for this new species.

“I can’t believe you’ve been here for all of 20 minutes and you’re already making observations that haven’t occurred to me yet. In my defense, I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in months.” Charlie smiled at her and grabbed her hand once more.

“You clearly haven’t seen a mirror in months, either.” Hermione replied, eyes trained on the hole in the ground as it shifted and began to fill itself up. She would have to make another note of that - the Sandskull didn’t seem to come and go from the same spot. This would make tracking him difficult, but not impossible.

“Oh, I have. I just don’t care.” Charlie said, scrubbing his hand through the hair that had finally grown back after his Quidditch incident with Krum. “Come on, let’s head back to the group before they start making jokes as to why we’ve disappeared so quickly.” He started off the way they came, but didn’t make it very far before his arm was tugged back behind him. Hermione hadn’t moved an inch and was staring at the hole she suspected led to Gonza’s home.

“Is it terrible that I want to climb in there and explore?” she whispered, slightly shocked at the adrenaline rushing through her. Her sense of adventure had been what brought her to work with dragons in the first place, and now there were so many more questions that needed to be answered. If Luke thought she would be heading back to England in three month’s time, he was incredibly wrong. There was no way she could leave now, and she knew it.

“Is it weird you want to explore? No. Is it a terrible idea? Well...I’ve had worse, but yes, that is a terrible idea.” Charlie joked, tugging on her arm once more. “Willa’s going to think I’ve shagged you against a tree or something if we don’t get back soon.”

“That might be the best idea I’ve heard all day…”

\-----

“Hey! Weasley!” Willa hollered as Hermione and Charlie approached the group once more, slightly disheveled. “Where did you two run off to, eh?”

“Charlie was showing me the temporary home they’ve set up for the Sandskull, if you must know, and I believe we’ve already made a few bounds from a research aspect. We suspect it lives --”

“Yeah, yeah,” Willa cut Hermione off, winking over Hermione’s shoulder at Charlie. His hair and beard had grown beyond the point of unkempt in his months away from home, living in the jungle, and the young witch was suddenly remembering the many reasons she had harbored a crush for so long. “While I do care about this new dragon Red’s slapped his name on, I’m more interested as to why you two disappeared for so long.”

“We suspect it burrows,” Charlie shrugged. “Bowie here pointed out a hole in a far corner that I hadn’t noticed before, and it answers a lot of the questions we’ve had about its preferred habitat, why it spits sand, and why nobody else has seen it before.”

“Well...alright, fine.” Willa relented before handing Hermione her travel pack. “Not to say I’m not interested, because I’ll be throwing my name into the cauldron for the R&D team when we get back, but I was hoping you took a few moments to say hello to each other properly before we get down to business.” It was Hermione’s turn to blush at her friend’s choice of words, knowing full well Willa had to put up with weeks of pining while Charlie was away.

“Oh, so you did take a moment for a proper hello? I’ll be sure to file that away for later. ‘Shagging on the clock, in a foreign country, whilst in charge of the situation.’ Brilliant move, Red. Really excellent work you’re doing out here.” Willa winked at the pair before moving away to find Margaret in the fray, eager to hear how she had been holding up as the only female in the group for so many weeks.

“Are we really that transparent?” Hermione asked, still attached to Charlie by the hand. They were standing so snugly in their corner of the world that they might as well be attached at the hip.

“Suppose so,” Charlie grinned before placing a kiss on her head and dragging her off once more to introduce her to the higher ups he had been coordinating with in the previous weeks.

\-----

_Howdy, Billy,  
_

_As luck would have it, I’ve been in Africa for the last three months! Lucinda, a Vipertooth of mine, flew off and settled on a cliff in Chad for a while. Turns out she was tracking an unseen breed while we were tracking her! That thing is wicked. Traveles underground, only comes out at night. Dubbed him a Sandskull. I'll tell you more about him when I have more time on my hands.  
_

_My general concern is that Hermione has found her way to Uganda to study with me, and I don’t think we’ll make it home for her birthday. If everything goes well, we’ll be close, but I thought I might check in for any suggestions on your side of the water. Istanbul is, unfortunately, out of the question. You know how to break into places, right? Could be fun. Maybe it’ll just be yet another hike but I’ll gather flowers, if they’re available. Might have to conjure some from somewhere. Mum would likely call that “poor form,” but I’ll make it work.  
_

_Speaking of, don’t tell mum that we’re out here, yeah? She’s already going to go mental when she finds out about my discovery, but I’m in charge here. They’re putting my name on all of this so I can’t risk a Howler while I’m in the field. She always says she won’t, but she always does. Please keep it within the cottage. I’ll be devastated if she spooks Gonza while making me look like an arse.  
_

_Anyway, how are Fleur and little Vic? George says everyone is getting on “swimmingly” but I’m not sure if that’s sarcasm. Maybe he’s just too busy with work to write his older brother. Maybe I’m a hypocrite. Who's to say? (Don’t answer that.) Either way, I hope it wasn’t a joke and that everything is going well and everybody is happy. I’m not sure what day of the week it is anymore, but hopefully this doesn’t find you at Sunday dinner so you can read this not surrounded by nosey sods.  
_

_I’m not sure how long this will take to reach you, and I’m especially unsure of how long a return letter will take, so please try to respond as soon as you’re able so I can get things moving on my end. I’ll let you know how things go when I get back to Romania, and hopefully I’ll be able to send you some photos for Christmas, earlier if I’m lucky. I reckon you’ll be seeing even less of me for the next few years, but I’ll try to make it home for the occasional birthday - or you could try to come visit me sometime! I guess that’s not the best idea, with a baby on the move in your house and everything, but we could try to make a weekend out of it. We can discuss that aspect later. My brain is exhausted and the only future plans I know for certain come with scales and curls.  
_

_Let me know your thoughts on all of this. Hoping to hear back soon.  
_

_Smooches!  
Char_

\-----

Faster than anyone had anticipated, mid-August had wound its way into early September. The team from Romania had split up quickly into separate shifts, keeping an eye on their own Vipertooth, observing and learning how to care for the Sandskull, and providing the Ugandans with assistance wherever necessary. Hermione and Charlie were now dedicating 70% of their waking lives to Gonza, 20% to Lucinda, and the other 10% to making up for lost time.

“It’s so nice not sharing a tent with Travis anymore,” Charlie sighed into her hair one night during their 10% of dedicated togetherness. “I missed being in a proper bed with my witch.”

Hermione adjusted herself slightly in the small bed they had learned to share and pressed a kiss to his still-unshaven jaw. “I can’t say that I was a big fan of sleeping at your house while you were away. Not without you, anyway, but at least it smelled right.” Charlie just smiled and held onto her tighter. His life felt like it had fallen into place over the last year or so, even if he had spent the last three months sleeping on cots held together by magic.

“I miss my bed,” he finally admitted into the dark. “I don’t think we’ll make it home for your birthday. I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Hermione yawned, snuggling in as close as she possibly could. “I’ve got everything I could possibly wish for right here.”

\-----

_Little sister of mine,  
_

_Hello! How are things going for the Harpies? You’re totally crushing it out there, I’m sure. Normally I’d be listening to all of your matches, but the wireless reception out in Uganda is not the best. Did Bill tell you that I’m in Africa? I asked him to keep it to himself, but Hermione is down here, too, so I thought he might have mentioned it to you or Harry so you can keep tabs on her.  
_

_I left Romania in June, tracking one of my daily charges, and she led us to some groundbreaking discoveries! Hermione is here taking notes on everything as we prepare a transfer back home. If everything goes well, we’ll be setting off in a few days. Hopefully we’ll be in motion by the time this reaches you. I’m still not sure how long it takes to get a letter from Uganda to England, but I wrote Bill about a month ago and just got his reply yesterday.  
_

_I wanted to ask your opinion on something (not like it’ll get back to me in time, but we can pretend). Bill explained to me how to break into a pyramid on the off chance we’re in the area around Hermione’s birthday. Do you think she would enjoy that, or would she think it’s absolutely mad and write me off forever? That would be a devastating blow to the ego, especially with all of the work we have to do together for the next few years. I’m probably overthinking this and should just run it by her flatmate, but I want everything to be perfect. I’ve never done anything like this before and your opinion is valued. (If you tell anyone about this, I swear to Merlin I’ll buy only Puddlemore merch for the next decade.)  
_

_I’m sorry to keep this so short, but duty calls! I’ll try to Floo you when I get home to let you know how the birthday went, give you some updates on my end, and maybe run through some new Quidditch drills. You’d be amazed how much you learn about broom control in the middle of a Saharan sandstorm.  
_

_I hope you’re well. Say hi to Harry for me.  
_

_Love you kid,  
Charlie_

\-----

Charlie was right: they hadn’t made it home in time for Hermione’s birthday. They hadn’t even made it onto the continent, not really. The team transferring the Sandskull was forced to make a last minute decision to double back as they approached the sea, unwilling to cross with the high winds and weight between them. The crate that Gonza had been calling home for the last few days was threatening to not make it all the way across and they wanted to take a few days to regroup and strengthen the charms holding it together near an old wizarding village suggested by Bill.

“I can’t believe Bill remembered enough about this place to get us up here,” Hermione sighed happily. Charlie had written to both his big brother and his little sister at their last stop-off, asking for suggestions to make her birthday spectacular on the long road home, and Bill had the perfect suggestion: dinner towards the top of a pyramid. The view was spectacular, ancient history surrounding Charlie’s team and their new life’s work.

“You know, he said it would be complicated getting up here, but I think he underestimates his own abilities sometimes,” Charlie replied, chuckling to himself. “Smartest guy I’ve ever known, Bill is. Can’t believe he thought he had only broken some of these curses temporarily, but he gave very detailed instructions. Wasn’t that hard.”

“Maybe you should’ve been a curse breaker, then,” Hermione laughed, sipping at a local beer Charlie had asked Willa to procure from some shady-looking building not far from where they had set up camp for the night. “But I can’t imagine you doing anything else. This is the perfect life for you.”

“I’ve always known it would be,” Charlie said as his eyes followed the group of keepers casting a stronger Disillusionment Charm on the crate that contained the dragon that he now considered his new child. “I can’t imagine doing anything else, either. And I can’t imagine doing it without you with me, scribbling notes as I rattle off theories and coming back the next day with a meticulous list of all of the reasons why I’m wrong.”

“Lucky for you that you can usually talk me round then, eh?” Hermione smiled, gesturing to the scene laid out in front of them. She had been hesitant to follow along with his plan blindly, but she relented after a few minutes of coaxing and promising that Bill knew what he was talking about.

“Think we should take a photo for ol’ Billy?” Charlie asked, digging around in the bag he brought along for the adventure, trying to find the camera he had tossed in there. She just smiled and nodded, hardly noticing Charlie had already managed to snap a photo of her sitting atop a pyramid, beer in hand, and flowers in her hair. Before he even saw it, he knew he would be keeping that one for himself.

“Come here, you weirdo,” Hermione said, pulling Charlie closer. “Get one of us together.”

“Alright, alright. Are we doing a silly one or a serious one?” Charlie held the camera out as far as he could reach without being worried he’d drop it and leaned in, turning his head at the last second to lick the side of her face.

“Charlie!” Hermione squealed, wiping at the spit left behind on her cheek. “You definitely can’t send that to Bill! Take a serious one for the family.”

“Fine, fine,” Charlie sighed in mock defeat, doing his best to look at the camera and not the witch beside him. If they sent a photo home making googly eyes at each other, they would all figure out why they had been casually avoiding Molly for months. He smiled for the camera and passed it off to Hermione so she could snap one of him showing off his desert beard before tucking the camera back into his knapsack for safe keeping.

“Still can’t believe you didn’t think we could get up here, clever as you are and with an explicit explanation from Bill. Between you and me, I’d say we’re capable of anything.” Charlie grinned at her then, but not his usual lopsided half-dimple grin; this was a smile that seemed brighter than all the rest and had only even been directed towards Hermione. “Speaking of things that I find unbelievable, are you really just going to let me run around telling people I’m your boyfriend now? I was expecting another fight on the subject, but I’ve got these photos in my pocket that might say otherwise…”

Hermione moved to shove him playfully, but lost her balance, instead, and laughed so hard that she spilled a bit of beer off the side of the pyramid they were perched atop. Charlie seemed prepared and shot an arm out to steady her and keep her from toppling over, which only made her laugh harder. How could she write Harry and Ginny to tell them about her research trip and how she had somehow managed to fall off the side of a pyramid? The scene that played out in her head caused her to begin gasping for breath as her cheeks and abdomen burned with laughter.

“I can’t believe I just did that!” she said, desperately trying to calm herself and adjusting the blue lotus flower Charlie had tucked into her hair hours ago. “What kind of birthday would this be if I managed to throw myself off the side of a bloody pyramid?”

“A memorable one, I’d reckon,” Charlie replied, raising his dark bottle in a mock salute. “I promised you’d have a fantastic birthday, did I not? What better way to celebrate than by ruining a piece of history?” He began to laugh in earnest then, happy to know she wasn’t terrified and was having a nice time. “I can just imagine the letter now -- ‘Dear Ginny, Your idiot brother went with Bill’s suggestion and now I will spend the next three months in hospital because I got a bit too tipsy and fell one hundred and thirty metres to the ground, and now I’m dead.’” The joke suddenly wasn’t very funny and they both glanced down at the way they were sitting, readjusting and moving as far back as they possibly could in their seats, sobering up just a little.

“I went too far, didn’t I?”

“Just a touch.”

“In that case, maybe we should head back soon. Luke mentioned keeping an eye on tomorrow’s conditions, but I’m not feeling confident. We need to iron out plan C before I can get some shut eye.” Charlie said, gathering the slight mess they had made to shove back into his knapsack.

Hermione frowned and nodded, tipping the last of her beer back before handing over the empty bottle. Getting up here had been fun, but she was a little nervous about getting back down after a few beers. Thankfully, they were both still feeling clear-headed, but they would have to exercise great caution on their way back through, just in case they missed anything on the way in.

“Maybe we’ll come back someday, yeah? Make our own tradition out of it?”

“We can make up as many traditions as you like.” Hermione smiled at him and kissed him quickly before picking up her own small bag and tossing it over her shoulder, allowing him to lead their way back.

\-----

Almost one week later, Charlie and his team felt the final dregs of adrenaline and excitement leave them somewhere over Turkey. They all knew they would be back home soon and were dying for their own beds, but that didn’t stop the new Sandskull from thrashing in his crate anytime they tried to take a shortcut over the water, ensuring they took the longest way possible around the Mediterranean without finding themselves lost on the opposite side of the Black Sea.

“Come on, buddy, not far now,” Charlie found himself coaxing from his position at the back of formation somewhere over Sofia or Bucharest. “We’re so close to home. No more stops, Gonza, please. We can do this, alright?”

The rumbling of his low voice roused Hermione from her nap and she stiffened slightly on the back of his broom. For one blissful moment, she had forgotten she was high above the world but stopped herself from shifting to rub the sleep from her eyes, not wanting to throw Charlie’s concentration as they soared above the mountains.

“Where are we?” she asked during a break in Charlie’s coaxing.

“Almost there, Bows, I swear.”

“You’ve been saying that since Istanbul.”

“It’s been true since Istanbul.”

As it turned out, he was not actually lying that time - a few hours later, they finally touched down on the ground at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary. Everyone in the area seemed to be awaiting their arrival as Charlie found himself immediately surrounded by a massive group of his coworkers, all shouting questions and congratulations faster than he could process them.

“Oi! Back off!” he finally yelled, fighting the urge to use his wand to force the crowd to back up so he could get his mind straight and do his job. “There’s an ornery dragon in the crate ten paces away that I need to introduce to his new home. If you’re not here to help, you can fuck off, alright?” The tone of his voice did the trick and most everyone backed off, jostling for a decent view as the travel-weary tamers surrounded their charge and flicked their wands “on three.”

The sides of the crate Gonza had been housed in for weeks finally fell and he burst forward with a furious roar, sending the keepers on the ground back as far as they could go. They had already learned the hard way that, while the sand-spitting was unique as far as they knew, it was worse than fire; it would eat through your skin and your bones faster than any acid or potion, and one lick on the arm meant you would lose it. The Ugandan Sandskull took to the air for a brief moment before registering the daylight and dropped quickly, burrowing into the ground faster than anyone could get a proper look or photo.

“And that’s my Sandskull!” Charlie hollered proudly from his position on the ground. The cheers of the reserve as a whole was deafening as everyone attempted to send their heartfelt congratulations and intrigue at the same time, as well as express their awe for the new charge.

Charlie beamed at Hermione before swinging his knapsack across his shoulder and handing her the broom to carry. She smiled back at him as she tucked the broomstick against her shoulder and reached out her hand for him to take on their way back to his house. Unsurprisingly, the reserve did not take the hint from their body language and did their best to follow, back to shouting questions and expressing interest in joining the team he would be putting together soon.

“Luke! Cecil! Are you nearby?” Charlie called into the crowd from his porch, eager to get inside and ignore the world for at least three days. He was beyond tired and hadn’t seen his own shower in almost four months and just wanted to lay with his witch in his own bed.

“Right here, Char,” Cecil called, shoving his way through and onto the porch.

“You’ll receive my official paperwork in one week’s time. You might see something from Bowie a bit earlier, because of who she is as a person, but I reckon I’m about to sleep for the next 72 hours. I’m keeping the porch light off until I’m ready for company or questions, so if anyone so much as knocks on my front door, they’re getting hexed to Russia and back. Am I clear?”

“Sounds perfectly reasonable to me.” Cecil nodded in agreement. “Good to see you back in good health. And excellent work, Weasley.”

“Thanks, Davies,” Charlie grinned before opening his front door, pulling Hermione inside, and kicking the door behind them, perfectly content to let Patrick and Tomo answer questions while he finally got some hard-earned sleep.


End file.
